A Traveller's Guide to Syria
by littlejuliet
Summary: Life carries on, time passes & old wounds heal; but an unexpected guest from very far away has Altaïr wondering what trouble awaits - for one thing he has learned is that where she goes, interesting things are sure to follow. ... Far from home, Quill tries to find her bearings and figure out where she is and how to get home - problem is, she might not be so keen to leave after all
1. Seeing is Believing

Altaïr sat up, not with the usual start, but more like he had been awake the entire time. The morning light was already bright in his chambers.

He remained silent, remembering the last image he had just witnessed.

He's not sure how long he sat, merely staring unseeing at the room in front of him, but he eventually became aware of Malik standing in the door.

"And?" he asked, his voice soft.

Altaïr regarded him a long while. "She did it," he said with an admiring smile, which soon turned to a frown.

"She saved her world. But… I saw her die. She didn't even try to drink one of their damned potions, or heal herself. She just... bled out. And I couldn't even tell her there was no point in being a martyr. I couldn't do anything," he said in a hollow voice.

"I am sorry Altaïr," Malik said.

He nodded, feeling oddly calm.

He felt the nagging sensation of Skyrim fade from his mind, felt himself fully present right then and there, something he hadn't felt since he came back – but still somehow dazed, like someone that heard shocking news, but it not sinking in. He couldn't believe she was gone – "_Surely it must be a mistake_," he thought.

"I should get cleaned up, the morning is late already," he said as Malik left.

He got dressed, and finished up in his room, but just before he left, he opened the chest at the foot of his bed.

It was still there. Gleaming crisp white in the morning light, the white cloak with the thick collar of white fur. He closed the chest with a sigh, and went to see to his duties.

. . .

Quill breathed out her last breath, her eyes unfocusing until the sky was just a gray blur, as she felt herself slipping away. She blinked a few times, and saw something dimly in front of her.

It didn't look like Sovngarde.

After a few moments she saw an enclave with a desk standing in front of a huge ornate window. Bookcases lined the walls on the left and the right, and in front of the window, with hands folded behind his back, stood a man dressed in white.

"Altaïr?" she heard her own ghostly voice ask in confusion.

The vision faded, and she slowly opened her eyes to the stormy sky again, forcing a shallow breath into her lungs. She rolled over onto her side, the pain quite unbearable – Alduin must have broken several ribs and punctured who knows what when her bit her. She had no hope of help, from herself or from others – except maybe…

"…Odahviing …" she all but whispered before losing consciousness.

. . .


	2. As Time Goes By

The weeks rolled into months, time passing reasonably uneventfully. The map of Skyrim on Altaïr's desk became further hidden below the never ending piles of paper – reports, letters, maps of areas depicting the whereabouts of the Pieces of Eden, and any reading material available about the Templars.

He didn't dream of Skyrim again, and for a while he rose in the mornings feeling rather disappointed. But eventually he had accepted that what he had seen must have been the end for the Dragonborn, or Dovahkiin, as the dragons called her.

He would still think back on the events that had taken place in that other world, and on some late evenings when he felt particularly nostalgic, he would share more tales with Malik. For the most part, Malik seemed to enjoy the tales, eagerly listening to the few legends he could retell, and the stories of the strange peoples he had seen, like a boy listens to fairy tales for the first time.

Altaïr had also taken to swearing in terms of "Oblivion" rather than "hell", as he had heard Quill do on numerous occasions – an oddity he enjoyed confusing everyone with.

He did not neglect his work in his state of mild melancholy, if anything it had pushed him to do more, search harder for the Pieces, and hunt the Templars more fervently.

His latest pet project had been to modify the Assassins' signature hidden blade.

He planned to do away with the sacrifice of the ring finger – still clearly remembering the words "Doesn't it make you easier to find?" echoing in his mind like an age old memory, even though it had been no more than half a year.

He very nearly had the design perfected, and he hoped that the new group of hopeful novices would be the first to be spared the sacrifice. It was a promising group, with one particularly talented young man standing out named Emir.

He came from a nearby village that allied itself with the Assassins. They had become a sort of safe haven away from Masyaf to any traveling assassins. And as such they got the benefit of the Assassins taking care of them should they suffer any attacks from bandits or the like.

Many of the eager young village men would come to try and prove themselves worthy to become a member of the Assassins, but they often didn't stand a chance against the many youths that had been brought up in the way of the Brotherhood since childhood. This one was different, however. He was quick and picked things up easily. Altaïr had taken quite a liking to him, and watched his progress eagerly.

But his trial was postponed, the man having requested leave to see to family business - this also served to give Altaïr more time to finish working on the blade at least.

. . .

She groaned as she opened her eyes, the sky so bright it nearly blinded her.

She had landed on something very hard, and must've knocked herself unconscious. She squinted up into a clear blue sky, and turning her head, looked into the unseeing eyes of a man. His features were contorted painfully, and memory slowly dawned on her. Oh yes, she had been chasing this bastard for a week. He was quite good at disappearing, but she was better at tracking.

She had followed him to the high peaks of the mountains overlooking the North Sea, just west of Windhelm. She had offered him his life in return for the item she was after, but he had stubbornly refused. They struggled, and fell from the cliff...

And she woke up – somewhere. Sitting up, she felt a rush of nausea.

_"Yup, bashed my head a bit too hard. But, I was luckier than this idiot_", she thought, seeing that he had landed on some metal spike, which was protruding through his chest.

A quick search of the man's pockets yielded nothing, and she was about to give up, when the sun caught something gold around his neck. She removed the necklace, and inspected the tiny shining object dangling at the end. With a satisfied smile, she pocketed the trinket and took in her surroundings.

A myriad of strange flat-roofed buildings extended in a sea of yellowish brown all the way up to a huge wall in the distance. The warm sun beat down on the crowded dusty streets, and all looked entirely unfamiliar.

"What the…" she muttered, as she heard the call.

"You there! Stop!" A guard had seen her, and the corpse, and drawn the only plausible conclusion.

She looked down from the roof – thankfully it was only a single story – and bracing herself jumped down. She sprained her ankle, and swearing under her breath, made a hasty retreat towards the nearest dingy alley she could find. By that time about half the city guard was hot in pursuit.

She crawled into the deepest shadow she could find behind a few crates, and pulling her cloak tightly around her, sat with bated breath. She heard several rushed feet run past her hiding spot, a few stopped and yelled commands, but eventually they all disappeared leaving her in the silent alley, the dim sounds of the busy city faintly audible.

With a sign of relief, she cautiously crept out, and set off in a direction (she didn't really care which, since she had no idea where she was in any case). She had gone a short distance when a little raggedly dressed boy bumped into her as he passed, muttering an apology.

Without needing to think about it, she reached back and grabbed the boy by the collar, before he could make his escape. The boy stared wide-eyed into the depths of her cowl, her features hidden to him. At length she just held out her hand, cocking her head to one side.

The boy forked out and handed over the four gold pieces he had picked from her pocket with a frustrated mutter. She regarded him a moment longer, before placing him on the ground, and disappearing down the alley.

The boy looked after the strange person, disappointed that he had been caught, but as he turned to leave, something clinked in his pocket. Curiously he drew out not four, but ten gold pieces each the size of his palm. At first he assumed they were fake, but giving one piece a testing bite, his eyes grew wide. They were real – and he didn't even feel it when they were placed in his pocket.

With new determination he set off in the direction of home – the day had turned out to be quite successful after all.

He hadn't gotten far when he ran into a group of guards. They had apparently not forgotten about the episode last week, where they all found themselves in a rather embarrassing situation due to him.

"There you are you little rat," the one guard sneered, as they surrounded him.

"Didn't I warn you to stay out of my way! I'll make you remember this time," he continued, lifting the boy by his shirt front, and aiming a blow towards his head.

The boy winced, expecting the blow that never came. Opening his eyes carefully, he saw the guard's surprised expression, as a steady hand held his fist in mid-air.

Turning he saw a strange woman eying the guard with a dangerous look, and on closer inspection, recognized her odd clothing from the alley, her cowl thrown back to reveal her face.

"Put him down - gently," she said through her teeth.

The guard was too shocked to do otherwise, and lowered him.

"Thank you for finding my little servant. I assure you he shall be suitably flogged for any inconvenience he caused," she said, this time her voice dripping with honey.

She passed the flabbergasted guard a gold piece, and taking him by the shoulder, led the boy away. "Which way should I turn?" she asked in a hushed tone as they neared a split in the road. Instinctively the boy veered to the left – that was the quickest way out of the city.

The group of guards were still staring after them, when another group came rushing into the clearing. "You lot! After them – we're looking for the one in black for murder!" the one exhausted man shouted to his comrades. This shook them into action, and they all set off after the two in haste.

"Damnation," she muttered, about to run off in another direction when the boy grabbed her hand.

"Follow me," he said with a broad smile, excitement gleaming in his eyes.

They ran through the throng of the market, dodging behind stalls, clambering over boxes and shoving people into the way of the oncoming guards. Nearing the city gates, the boy took a sharp turn into an alley, avoiding the numerous guards standing in the gateway.

The boy nimbly scaled the side of a single-story building by first taking a running jump onto a nearby crate. She watched him carefully, and with a huff, gave it a try. She was slower than he was, but she managed to gain the roof, only to see the boy's figure leaping over the gap between two buildings. She set after him, trying not to look down as she jumped.

They eventually ended up on the city wall, she felt entirely exhausted, but pressed on. The boy seemed as energetic as ever as he dropped down off the wall onto a high rise, and motioned for her to follow.

By the time her little guide slowed to a walk, Quill was relieved for the slower pace.

"Wow, how did you get the gold pieces in my pocket so smoothly?" he asked in admiration.

"That's your question?" she asked, eying him curiously. "Not – 'Why were the guards calling you a murderer'?"

The boy shrugged.

"Very well. If you get me away from this city, I might show you."

He gave it a little thought, and nodded approvingly.

"So, are you?"

"Am I what?"

"A murderer."

"Not this particular time, no. Where are we going?"

"We're going to my house. You can stay there for a while if you'd like," he replied confidently.

"Are you in the habit of bringing strange people home?" she asked.

He merely laughed.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"… you may call me Stormblade," Quill eventually answered. Not comfortable giving up her identity until she had a clearer idea of where she was. "What is yours?"

"Stromblade, really? That's your name?"

"No. It's a title."

"Mmm I don't have any titles, but you can call me Mika."

"Thank you for getting me out of the city. Tell me, where am I?"

"Nah its ok – you got those guards off my back. You're in the Holy Land. Why, didn't you know?"

"No, I had no idea," she replied, thinking "Holy Land" to be quite a pretentious name, but kept it to herself.

"Where are you from then?"

"A really long way away, I should think."

They had reached a small farm community; a few similarly flat-roofed houses huddled around a tiny town square, with a well in the center. The boy led her to an unassuming house, and flinging the door open happily announced his arrival.

"Rima, I'm home!"

A girl, perhaps eighteen, looked up for the small cooking fire. She smiled seeing the boy, but her expression become concerned as she took in the stranger.

"Mika, what have you done this time?" she asked, even as the boy gave her a hug.

"Oh Rima – nothing! I just met a new friend," he said motioning towards his new acquaintance.

"I apologize for the intrusion; he was kind enough to assist me in the city. I won't impose, I shall take my leave at once," she said, slightly bowing to the wide-eyed girl.

"No," the girl breathed in a sigh of relief. "Please, stay, if my brother has invited a friend, then all is well. He just has the habit to get into mischief. It would not have been the first time he was escorted home by guards or some angry noble." The girl was pretty with dark wavy hair, but a long scar marred her features along the right side of her face, from forehead to jaw-bone.

"Mika, go fetch some water please," she instructed, handing him a bucket. He grumbled, but did as she asked regardless.

"You must want to freshen up – follow me," the girl said, leading her to one of the only two rooms adjoining the main room of the house. "You will join us for dinner. It's a special night, our brother has received leave to come visit us."

"You need not trouble yourself with me. I am not expecting anything," she tried to put the very hospitable girl at ease.

"Oh no, I insist really," she said, closing the wooden shutter of the room, and lighting a candle. She placed a wash basin and the filled bucket her brother had brought behind a screen to the one side of the room.

"Let me know if you need anything else," she said, closing the door behind her.

The room was small, but cozy, with two narrow beds, a single standing cupboard and a chest on which the wash basin, a small mirror and combs stood. Quill shrugged off her armor, pitying the dusty state of the slick black leather. The dust had even gotten onto her underclothing, the usually light grey linen looking oddly brownish.

The door opened again – "Oh! I'm sorry, I just realized I forgot to give you towels."

"That's quite alright," she replied, although feeling a bit exposed, the underclothing at least covered all the important bits. She thanked the girl, taking the towels.

The girl – Rima – was eying her, a little embarrassed, but clearly having something to ask.

She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"I don't mean to pry, but who did that to you?" the girl asked quietly.

"What? Oh," she said, instinctively looking at the exposed areas that showed several scars. "Most of these I couldn't give you a name, as such." Rima looked confused.

"Sometimes you just get in the way of an arrow, or nicked by a sword. I'm assuming that's not how you got yours?"

The girl looked suddenly shy, but answered, "I was a bit younger, and went to fetch water, I must have been daydreaming, and I didn't see the nobleman's servant approaching to water his horse. He said he would teach me to remember my place… I think he might have killed me, had my older brother not intervened."

"I am sorry to hear that."

The girl gave her a self-conscious little shrug and a small smile before leaving.


	3. So far so good, oh no wait

She cleaned the dust off herself and her armor; reapplied the thin lines under her eyes that curve down ending in a slight swish on her cheeks in ox-blood red paint; and retied her hair in two tight plaits starting at her hairline and ending at the base of her skull, the rest of her hair hanging loose.

Feeling more presentable, Quill entered the main room of the house, just as the sun was beginning to set. Mika was sitting at the table, telling an animated tale to a man with his back towards Quill, while Rima was carrying pots of sweet smelling meats and fresh loaves of bread to the table.

"There you are! You took forever!" Mika exclaimed excitedly, jumping up and fairly dragging Quill towards the table.

The young man, dressed in dark grey robes over white linen, rose to greet their guest.

"So you must be this Stormblade my brother keeps going on about?"

"Apparently, although I cannot imagine what he would have to go on about," she said, inclining her head.

"Well, he did mention you had trouble with the guards," here she grimaced, "and according to him, you are the best pick pocket in the history of the world. Ever," he finished laughing, clearly copying his brother's vocal inflictions.

"Really, she is!" Mika insisted.

"I do believe he owes you several gold pieces though," he said more sternly, giving his brother a serious look.

"Oh no," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "A reward, for a valiant attempt. I can't tell you when last someone actually tried that with me."

"That is a truly generous reward - then I thank you for this kindness, we will be able to put it to good use. I am Emir, by the way," he said, motioning for them all to take a seat.

Quill's mouth fairly watered at the smells rising from the dishes on the table, she was suddenly famished. She wasn't disappointed when they set to eating without much formality. She wondered how long these three had been without parents – each looking after the other.

"Well, while you have slaved away to feed hungry mouths," Emir said, clearing his throat, "I didn't neglect to remember why we're here tonight."

"Oh Emir, you really shouldn't have," Rima objected as her brother handed her a wrapped parcel.

"Happy birthday, Rima," he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"It's from me too," Mika added, between mouths of food.

The girl eagerly unwrapped the gift and took out a beautiful dress of light purple silk.

"It's wonderful , thank you both – so much," she said, admiring the fine detail in the tailoring and embroidery.

"I didn't realize you were celebrating," Quill said slightly uncomfortably, but the purple fabric having given her an idea, she dug in the pouch on her hip looking for the Amulet of Dibella.

"May you always be able to talk your way out of trouble," she said, handing over the golden chain with the delicate leaves, suspending a golden tear-shaped amulet with a purple stone set in the bottom.

"Oh I couldn't possibly…" the modest girl began, her eyes lighting up as she saw how well the accessory complemented her new dress.

"I insist, please accept my gift," she replied, refusing to take no for an answer.

They spent the rest of the evening in homey comfort, sitting on numerous big pillows, chatting amicably. Quill had the feeling they were not entirely honest about everything – but then, she could hardly speak. Their parents had been killed a few years prior, and it had been difficult for the siblings to remain afloat. Things were improving though, Emir was training to become a soldier – they did not mention for whom – and they had every hope that Mika would also prove a good soldier when he came of age.

They retired fairly early, giving Quill the only other room in the house – Mika would sleep in Rima's room, and Emir said he would be happy on the pillows in the main room. The three were quite stubborn, and eventually Quill agreed to their arrangement.

She had decided to leave before daybreak, not wanting to further intrude on their hospitality. She thought she would leave the small family a purse of gold, feeling the need to assist them in some small way.

Quill dozed idly, waiting for the pre-dawn hours, when she was suddenly brought sharply awake by a commotion outside. She carefully opened the door to her room, to find Emir fastening his scabbard around his waist.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I don't know, but I intend to find out. Stay here," he said as he left through the door.

She snorted and followed him.

She very nearly bumped into him, since he had stopped just outside the door. The commotion had by then, become utter chaos, flames licked the sky as stores and houses where set alight, panicked shrieks ringing in the night air, and a detachment of riders attacking and wrecking everything in their path.

"Talos have mercy…"

The door opened behind Quill, Rima and Mika's frightened faces visible in the ruddy light.

"Get back in side," Quill and Emir said almost in unison.

"Oh, no wait," Quill said, stopping the door. "Here," she said, handing the bewildered girl an eerie looking black dagger that gleamed with red inscriptions, before pulling the door shut.

"My sister doesn't know how to wield a weapon," Emir remarked.

"She doesn't need to with that one – Dagger of Paralysis – a scratch and she will have bought them time to get away."

The two joined the fray – several men were trying to form a resistance against their attackers, but pitchforks and walking sticks were no real match against steel. The few that did have weapons, were not as skilled as the cavalry, and were rounded up or killed.

Quill was impressed by Emir's fighting style, he moved smoothly and his attacks were deceptively powerful. The attackers all wore heavy armor with a red cross on the breast plate, and she wondered what they were looking for in such a quiet village.

A rider threw a spear towards Emir's unprotected back, and Quill used her current target as a shield, the man's eyes widening in horror before rolling back as his comrade's spear skewered him. Quill was on the rider in seconds, jerking him from the saddle before impaling him with her own sword.

"We need to get you and your siblings out of here – it's a massacre," she said to Emir. She had kept a hold on the bewildered mount of the man she had just killed. Its nostrils flared, and it tried to pull away from her, she gave it a warning growl.

Emir nodded, and soon reappeared from the house with his brother and sister in tow. Quill smiled, seeing the amulet around Rima's neck – it might come to her advantage. Helping the two onto the animal, Emir gave them strict instructions.

"You know where the fortress is, right? Run straight there, do not spare the horse. Get what help you may, but get to safety." Quill wondered whether she should protest at his decision to stay behind.

Mika was crying quietly, but Quill was impressed by the firm look in Rima's eyes as the girl nodded mutely.

They looked around for a clearing, but the throng of battle was too tight.

"_Oh well, here goes,_" Quill thought. "Which way to they need to go?" she asked Emir.

He pointed to a rough direction.

"When the path clears, you two get out of here, alright?" she said to the mounted siblings. All three looked at her in confusion.

She walked a few paces forward, glad for the deafening sound of battle, and she drew a deep breath. Her short and powerful shout ripped through the throng of riders, she only used the first word, clearing the path just enough for one horse. Rima wasted no time, only looking over her shoulder at her brother and Quill as the horse dashed madly away.

"How did you do that," Emir said, his eyes wide. She was sure however, that he did not hear nor feel the full force of her shout – but it was clear that he was unfamiliar with the power of a Thu'um.

The recovering soldiers soon set upon them, and although they fought to their utmost, the village was soon overwhelmed. Quill considered making a get-away, she would easily be able to sprint past the attackers. But - "_damned sympathy_" she thought - she felt that she could not leave all these people behind.

The surviving town's people were shackled, and tied like prisoners, led away from their burning homes.

"Well this is embarrassing," she muttered. Emir gave her a strange look.

"Do you think your sister and brother will reach safety?"

"Yes, I'm sure they will. I wonder where this lot is taking us though," he mused aloud.

After a few miles, and the loss of a few more towns' people due to exhaustion or battle sustained injuries, they were ordered to halt at an encampment. White banners with the same cross symbol fluttered in the early morning air.

A man standing at least a head taller than the rest approached the group. His armor was richly inlaid with gold and silver detailing, and Quill imagined he would stand out like a beacon on a battlefield on a sunny day. That was one thing Ulfric was smart about – he dressed the same in battle as his soldiers, and the Imperials couldn't easily pick him out to eliminate him. This man had obviously found the glitz of command more appealing than was good for him.

"Interesting little ensemble we have here," he said, inspecting a few of the prisoners like wares in a store, and Quill noticed his accent was different. His attention was particularly focused on the few women that had survived the attack and the trek there.

He motioned to one of his men, and they hauled a terrified woman out from among the group. A man tried to protest, but was instantly silenced. The poor woman struggled against the soldiers in vain. Without thinking about it too much Quill rose above the rest of the seated men and women.

"Hey!" Quill yelled. "I thought they were sending the jester to entertain their guests, you didn't even do one amusing thing," she said tartly to the man in charge.

"What are you doing?" Emir hissed, she shook her head at him ever so slightly.

"Well, come on. You're surely not dressed like _that_ for any other reason?" she continued to bait his ego.

"What have we here? A little wild cat among the flowers?" the man asked with a mean gleam in his eye. "Take her instead," he said to his men.

They fairly threw the other woman back among the crowd, and pulled Quill forward. She shrugged loose from their hold. "I am sure I know which tent is his, it's the one with Pompous Ass written all over it." Some of the soldiers actually snickered at her remark.

The man in question however, was not nearly so impressed. He backhanded her, before grabbing her arm and fairly dragging her towards his tent - yes, it was the biggest one there. She kept an air of annoyed boredom, which she could sense irked him even more.

"_Idiot_," she thought. That was just what she needed. She had been angry, but after the slap, she could already feel her blood boiling. He was going to have the night of his life – the last night, that was. Their fatal mistake was tying their prisoners' hands in front of them. How stupid could one be? Although Quill didn't complain, it would make her plan easier to execute.

He was, thankfully, every bit as arrogant as she had hoped, and they had barely entered the tent, before he started shrugging off his armor.

"Well, let's have a better look at you," he said grabbing her chin roughly with one hand. He frowned though, obviously confused not to see the fear he would have expected.

Quill gave him a wolfish grin, and snapped his wrist with one hand. She could feel the change rolling through her body, her hands were no longer recognizably human, and as his eyes went wide, she stifled his scream with the other paw.

She could see the shadows of an approaching soldier on the tent material, her would-be assailant tried to make a plea for help, but behind the furry paw over his mouth it came out like a muffled sob. Quill growled at her warningly victim, and the soldier on the other side of the tent quickly retreated.

"What is wrong with you people?" she growled in his ear in disgust, the pronunciation awkward just before she was completely incapable of speech. As she changed the cuffs cut into her wrists, but the pain was dulled out by the drumming of the beast-blood pumping in her veins.

The man was however still a trained soldier, and he somehow managed to get hold of a short knife, which he then used to try and fend the creature off. He swiped it across her face before trying to stab at her.

She was taken aback by this, she had assumed fear had numbed his senses. She growled angrily at him before throwing him to the ground, and pinning his arms down with her knees, she wrapped her hands around his throat. She briefly considered just breaking his neck, but she decided to let him suffer as he went, since he had clearly enjoyed the suffering of those he thought weaker than himself so much. His arms and legs flailed weakly for a moment, knocking a nearby table over, but soon she saw the light in his eyes fade, and all went quiet.

She placed him in his bed, rearranged him to look no more than asleep, and changed back. She was tempted to clean the cut along her jaw and wrists after she was back in her armor, but thought it might look more authentic if she looked a little haggard - sick bastards. A quick look around revealed that the few weapons that the villagers had between them, were all piled in this vile man's tent. She picked them all up, including her two trusted blades, and pocketed them.

She was about to exit the tent, when she heard the commotion outside. She peered cautiously through a gap in the tent flaps. There was something happening among the prisoners, and she caught a glimpse of one of the soldiers knocking Emir unconscious with the hilt of his sword. She felt touched by his apparent effort to rescue her, and taking a deep breath she stepped from the tent. All attention was immediately turned to her. She kept her eyes to the ground, but held herself in an air of what she hoped would be indignant pride; she made her way back to the other villagers at a slow deliberate pace.

She retook her seat beside the prostrate figure of Emir amidst absolute silence. When the guards got bored and turned their attention elsewhere, she quickly set to work, picking the locks on the cuffs around her wrists. She systematically and slowly had each person come to her to pick their locks, giving them strict instructions not give their new found freedom away. Luckily the locks were old, and not very difficult, and in no time everyone sat with their hands free.

She nudged Emir wit the tip of her boot then, "Hey, time to get moving."

"What… Oh. Are you alright?" he asked squinting up at her, the mid-day sun scorching and bright.

"I am fine. Here sit up," she said pulling him up and quickly getting to work on his locks too. "I don't think it will be too much longer before they figure out that moron is dead – when that happens, we make our move," she whispered.

"You killed him? Well done," he said approvingly. "But we have no weapons."

"Don't worry about that," she said, patting her bag, but he merely gave her a confused look.


	4. Poison - Of Course

"Altaïr, come watch the novices spar outside – you've been cooped in here for days," Malik pleaded with his friend.

"I am so close, the blade is almost ready," he replied from behind his desk, rubbing his tired eyes.

Just then one of the young men ran up to Malik, his excitement almost tangible.

"Malik! You have got to come see - - oh, Master Altaïr," the man calming a little at seeing him, "You really need to come see this! A big black horse has wandered into the training area, all saddled and tacked up neatly, but no-one can ride it. Everyone is having a go, but none has been able to, well, get on," his excitement returned, he dashed down the stairs, apparently to go and try his own luck.

Altaïr sat staring at nothing, lost in thought.

"Well, now you really have no excuse - this sounds entertaining. It will do you good to get out a bit Altaïr," Malik said.

Altaïr rose and looked out the window. There was indeed a big black horse in the training ring.

"It can't be…" he said, rushing past Malik.

"It can't be what?" Malik asked. "Well, wait for me."

Altaïr stopped just outside the front door, on the small rise overlooking the practice area, Malik short on his heels.

"You've seen it before?" he asked. The black horse had eyes that glowed red like embers, and it stood looking rather bored as one after the other tried to mount it.

None could get on, or stay on. Some either just suddenly found themselves sitting in mid-air, the horse just out from underneath them, other's tried to jump on, and would land cleanly on the other side; and yet others would take hold of the saddle, pulling themselves up, but be pushed back, as if by some unseen force.

"Shadowmere," Altaïr said below his breath, the horse immediately lifted its head, giving him a friendly whinny.

It quite casually walked up to the Master Assassin, and nudged him with its great head. Altaïr put his hand on the black forehead.

"What are you doing here?" he asked the horse.

It in turn gave a nicker and tried to get at something in his pocket. He pulled a white feather, which the horse immediately ate. Everyone's attention was firmly fixed on him and the horse, and a confused hush hung in the air.

"This is her horse," he said below his breath to Malik. "Or was."

"Are you sure it's a horse?" Malik asked suspiciously.

"No, not really," Altaïr said with smile. Shadowmere replied with laugh-like whinny.

It was apparently bound to be an eventful day though, as the next moment a few guards shouted from the keep gates, and the clatter of hooves echoed against the walls. A wild-eyed charger, with the white and red colors of the Templars flapping in its wake, ran madly into the training area, its rider a young girl and a small boy. They were dusty from travel, and the mount's livery was tattered and splatted with blood, the girl finally managed to rein the spooked horse in right next to Altaïr and Malik. The mood quickly turned tense.

"Please, you must help us," the girl said, her eyes red rimmed but determined.

"What is the problem," Malik asked, eyeing the shaking mount skeptically.

"Our village has been attacked by the Templars, Emir let me and our little bother escape, to find aid," she pleaded.

"How did you get that horse?" Altaïr asked, worried that one of the novices was involved. The girl looked genuinely terrified and harried, but taking a Templar's horse would be no easy feat – and she looked like no warrior. He thought he caught a hint of a strange dagger tucked into her belt.

"My brother – I don't know how he got it…" she said, and then swallowing hard, and setting her jaw she said firmly, "If you are merely wasting my time, tell me so. I was under the impression the Assassins would aid us, but if not, tell me and I will find someone who will."

"Alright, alright," Altaïr said, impressed by her determination. "I don't know if we will be in time, but we will give any aid we can." He signaled to several men to meet him at the gates. "You and your little brother will stay here; Malik will see that you get everything you need."

And with that he swung effortlessly into Shadowmere's saddle – to the cheers of those who had failed to do the same.

"Show off," Malik said to him, smiling, before he led the girl and her brother inside.

. . .

They didn't have to wait too long for their needed distraction. A soldier entered the dead man's tent, Quill nudged Emir with her elbow, and drew a sword for him from her deceptively small bag. They quickly distributed the very limited supply of weaponry among the able-bodied, and sat waiting.

"Sound the alarm! Where is that woman!?" the soldier exclaimed, running from the tent.

Even as several soldiers approached the huddled prisoners, Quill rose with a cold grin, her swords drawn as her shackles fell from her wrists. The other armed villagers took her lead. "The rest of you, get out of here as quickly as you can," she said over her shoulder, just as the first clashes of steel on steel rung through the morning air.

Thankfully the camp was not full – many soldiers were either out on patrol, or still on their way there, as such the hand full of peasants had a slightly better chance. Quill wondered what they might do if more soldiers arrived, but pushed the thought aside. There was no need in dwelling on the what-ifs. There was plenty to focus on in the then and there.

Again she found something oddly familiar about Emir's fighting style as he countered an attack. This momentary lapse of concentration was very nearly fatal, however. Another soldier had come up behind her, and she was just too slow to side-step his sweep, his blade cutting through her armor deeply into her right arm. She stepped back just in time for his follow-up to miss her and hit another soldier. This might have saved her life, but it also caused her to stumble over something, and land head first on an extruding rock. She instinctively stumbled to her feet again, feeling dizzy as blood began to seep between her hair.

"I really should refrain from hitting my head twice in two days," she muttered to herself as she clumsily blocked a swing. She managed to skewer her attacker and made her way closer to Emir, feeling suddenly disorientated.

"Uhm," she said, seeing three of her new acquaintance.

"Stormblade, behind you!" Emir was saying, but she just frowned at him as if the meaning of his words were lost on her.

He pulled a small dagger from his belt and it flew a few inches past her head, embedding itself in the skull of the man behind her. She watched everything in a slight daze, feeling like she was not really there, but just watching it happen. The only thing that had her thinking other wise, was pain radiating out from her cut arm.

"Oh. Poison - of course, it's poisoned," she said, looking at the cut on her arm before slumping to the ground.

Emir and the other villagers kept a safe area around her, all of them feeling something akin to loyalty towards her for her actions earlier that day, and by the time that there were more injured than left standing they had actually managed to drive off the last of the Templars.

. . .

The Assassins met a straggling group of frighten villagers along the road, that set them in the direction of the Templar camp.

They were however surprised to find the battle over – and won. The villagers had already begun to load their injured onto wagons, protesting chargers harnessed in as draught-horses, as the last few Templars were rounded up.

Altaïr saw Emir giving orders, and taking charge, impressed by the young man's abilities.

"It looks like we are too late for a rescue, but we can offer assistance," he said dismounting, greeting the novice.

"Master Altaïr!" Emir said happily, inclining his head. "Did my sister and brother reach Masyaf?"

"Yes, they did. But I see she might have been overly concerned for your wellbeing."

"No, not really," he said, looking at the three cart-loads of injured. "We were lucky. And victory doesn't belong to me. I would introduce you to the one that secured our freedom, but Stormblade is currently, erm, indisposed," he said pointing towards one of the wagons.

"Let us hope your friend recovers then, I would like to meet him that you speak so highly of," Altaïr said, wondering at the odd name.

Emir did nothing to correct him in calling her a "him".

Truth be told, he wasn't sure how most people would react to her. After the previous evening and the battle, he wasn't too sure what to make of her himself. She was a good ally to have no doubt, but she seemed like she was from somewhere else entirely, the way she spoke, dressed and acted, and he would like to prepare the Master Assassin for what was likely to be an odd encounter.

Once back at the fortress, everything was a flurry of activity, getting the refugees settled, and taking care of the injured. His sister and brother were over joyed to see him, and eagerly enquired of their new friend's whereabouts.

Altaïr left Shadowmere at the stables, but the horse refused to stay behind. Eventually he had to settle for getting a bucket of water and hay put out just outside the door. Any that thought to object got disapproving looks from the horse, and decided to let the subject go.


	5. Still not Sovngarde

Quill woke up, her head spinning. She was lying on something far too soft, and the warm air was too richly scented with floral fragrances. She sat up, trying to take in her surrounding, but still finding it difficult to focus on anything. The room was large and spacious, rich rugs covered majority of the tiled floors, the windows were covered in gauzy fabric that fluttered in the slight breeze, potted plants created pretty little scenes with delicately decorative chairs and tables, gilded mirrors adorned the walls, the pillars extending up to the vaulted ceiling gleamed white and smooth.

"Nope, still not Sovngarde," she muttered.

She heard someone approach, and instinctively crept behind a pillar. A woman entered carrying a large plate of fruits and a jug of sweet wine, and after placing her load on the little table, seemed surprised to find the bed empty.

Sensing no immediate danger, Quill slowly came out from behind the pillar, still using it to steady her, eying the young woman critically. She had rich dark hair, and a clear olive skin with huge brown eyes. Her attire was odd too – nothing like what she remembered Rima wearing. It was low cut in front, fitted tightly over her chest and midriff and a long skirt that split down the middle in the front. A few pieces of golden jewelry glitzed as it caught the light when she moved.

"Where am I?" she demanded.

"There you are! You should not be up," the woman said softly, nearing her, but Quill took a step back out of her reach. She looked confused by this reaction.

"Where am I," she repeated.

"You are at the fortress. The Master gave us instruction to take care of the one Emir called Stormblade, and so you are here," she said spreading her hands.

"Emir's sister and little brother – they are safe?"

"Yes, I am sure they will come by again soon to see if you are awake. They have barely left your side," she assured her.

Quill slowly walked towards the table keeping a wide berth around the woman, the smell of the sweet wine suddenly quite appetizing. Her movements felt awkward though, and looking down she gave a horrified start. She hadn't liked the woman's attire, but hers was even more upsetting.

A fine silk fabric covered her chest with delicate golden straps, with a similarly dipped chest-line, then a completely separate slip of fabric formed a skirt that extended down to her knees, and only fabric joining the entire ensemble was a gauzy light blue that was sewed into the top fabric at the chest piece and the skirt, and left to flow down to the floor.

She also realized that she wasn't only smelling the room – having apparently been bathed, her wounds dressed and liberally perfumed with the heady scent herself.

"What am I wearing," she said through her teeth, as another woman entered the room carrying flowers.

Both regarded her mutely, with confused expressions, obviously uncomfortable with the edge to her voice.

. . .

Emir was on his way to see if Stormblade had resurfaced, when he ran into Altaïr and Malik, the two pouring over paper-work. He still had to figure out a way to let them know that his new acquaintance was not a he, but in fact a she.

"Ah, Emir," Altaïr said looking up. "You're friend awake yet?" Both he and Malik had discussed their curiosity over the secrecy with which the young man had handled the situation.

"I was just going to check," he said, as they approached the door.

"We'll join you," Malik said.

"Uh…"

"That a problem?" Altaïr asked, but before he could respond they heard a commotion from the room. One young woman fled the room with wide eyes, and running into Altaïr, burst into tears and ran off.

Malik and Altaïr gave Emir a questioning look.

"I would guess awake," said Malik, trying to hide a smirk. He was really burning with curiosity.

They heard an angry, decidedly female, voice echo out towards them.

"What in the flaming plains of Oblivion have you done with my things!?" she fairly barked.

Malik recognized the phrase, and turned to see Altaïr frozen, having dropped the papers he was carrying.

"But the Master strict instructions to make sure you were comfortable and taken care of," the remaining woman tried to explain, taking the verbal beating better than the other one had apparently.

"Do I look comfortable to you!? I will give your '_master_' a piece of my mind!" she ground out dangerously.

"Uh, you're up?" Emir said, trying to diffuse the situation, not knowing what to read into Altaïr's reaction. She flew around to face the new comer.

"Oh, it's you," she said, only slightly less violently. "You had better tell me they didn't lose my armor," she demanded, stabbing a forefinger at his chest.

"No no, I will see to it that everything is in your possession again momentarily. I wanted you to meet the Master of our order and his second…" he replied, but before he could really finish she turned and narrowed her eyes at Malik.

Altaïr was half hidden in the shadow of the door, and Malik gave him a concerned look – not sure how to react to this rather upset woman.

For his part, Altaïr just stared frowning and disbelieving – "_This is not possible – but yet here she is, alive and wel. Yelling at people, here,_" he thought - he just needed a moment to recollect himself.

"Where in the name of the Divines is my armor? And my bag?! And then you're to blame for this humiliating attire?" she said venomously, her eyes ablaze, flapping the gauzy fabric into the air.

After a deep breath, and a deliberate effort to calm herself, she added more coolly, "I also suppose a 'thank you' is in order. For taking me in, not for this," motioning towards her clothing. It felt like her hard blue eyes were staring right through Malik, making him slightly awkward.

"You are welcome, I am sure. But actually," Malik said with a sly smile, throwing his thumb toward Altaïr, "You want to be talking to him."

She gave an annoyed huff. Malik was finding the situation quite entertaining. Altaïr had been right; she was definitely not like any of the women he'd ever met before.

Quill was trying hard to remain calm, she felt lost and disorientated, and thoroughly humiliated. All she really wanted was her own armor - that would give her some peace of mind. She turned, rubbing her temple, and opened her eyes to look into a familiar face.

They stood a long moment just staring at each other, in shocked silence.

"Altaïr…" she breathed, visibly paling, all annoyance replaced by disbelief.

He stepped forward, quite overcome, and embraced her firmly.

She didn't return it immediately, as if she was waiting for the illusion to fade.

But she slowly raised her arms, and returned the embrace briefly before gently pushing him away.

"Altaïr, is it really you?" she asked, taking a step back.

"I might ask you the same thing," he replied, with a half-smile. There was something different about her, he couldn't put his finger on it, but it was like she seemed very guarded.

"I'm fairly certain I am me, yes. This is your world?" she asked.

Malik motioned to the woman and Emir to follow him out, but as they left she added "My armor Emir. Now please."

"Still so pushy?" Altaïr asked.

She shrugged, and walked over the table to pour out some wine. On second thought, she took a swig from the bottle, perching herself on the edge of one of the delicate chairs.

"This better not be Sheogorath's realm," she muttered, taking deep sips of the refreshing liquid. She felt like she was hanging on cliff – she was struggling to come to terms with the fact that she was here, talking to a man she had made peace she would never again see, in a different world.

"Are you alright?" he asked, taking a seat next to her, but he was surprised that she seemed to lightly flinch at his close proximity.

"I… I'm fine, it's just a lot to take in," she replied, instinctively reaching to touch the reassuring hilt of her sword, but with annoyance remember it wasn't there.

"I know how you feel. I can barely believe it is really you - six months ago I saw you die…"

She gave him a confused frown.

"Shortly after I came back to my world, I started having dreams about Skyrim, about you. I saw you finally defeat Alduin – _that_ was quite something, on a side note – and I saw how it ended. You died at the Throat of the World…"

"Oh. That. I suppose I did die," she said hollowly. "As I blew out my last breath, I think – I dunno – I saw you, standing in front of some big window. And I just sort of woke up. I wished I had died, it was unpleasantly painful. But that was almost four years ago…"

"Four years," he repeated. That would explain the change he read in her – she seemed more serious, more closed-off, and more battle weary. She was clearly unimpressed by the clothing the women had chosen for her – which, knowing her, he could understand, but it also afforded him the opportunity to mark just how many scars she had accumulated.

Where she had only the scratches on her cheek and the thin white scars that he had himself stitched on her shoulder, her back and arms carried a myriad of marks now. Ranging from tiny nicks, to what must have been deep wounds, and her midsection carried a full ragged print of the great dragon's teeth.

He was about to ask her about this – remembering that magic left no scars – when Emir reentered carrying her armor. Her face lit up, and he caught a little of her "old self" that he remembered, as she happily took the armor. She let her hand trail over the familiar leather. He also handed her the small bag she carried on her hip.

"What is in here?" Emir asked, handing over the heavy little bag.

"Everything," she said with a toothy smile.

It was still the black armor with the deep cowl and the bird clasp that Altaïr remembered as being her favored attire. He wondered what ever happened to her with regards to the Dark Brotherhood, the last he knew, she hadn't been on a good foot, he wondered what she had been up to for four years - four years, that was a long time...

But questions would have to wait – he had business to attend to, and she seemed happy enough just to have her things back for now.

"I have a few things to take care of, but I will see you later," he said, and felt oddly comforted by what he read as disappointment in her eyes.

She nodded mutely in reply.


	6. Getting Better (Re)acquainted

"_So this is the other side_," she thought as she got out of the awful attire of the local women, and had to keep herself from putting a match to it. The leather armor felt comforting and familiar. It was a strange place – she remembered Altaïr telling her there was no magic, only illusions; no dragons; no snow – it was in deed much warmer than Skyrim.

She left the room, looking left and right, and picked a direction at random, under no intent to remain in bed like some damaged flower, even though she still felt slightly uneasy on her feet. Everywhere she walked through the halls the men and women she passed gave her wary looks, passing on the opposite side of corridors and walkways.

Eventually she stepped out into the sun, and after her eyes adjusted to bright light, she noticed several assassins paused in mid spar, staring at her. She continued walking, only hearing the practice continuing once she had rounded a corner, walking through a large gate.

She followed the dirt road down into a tiny village at the foot of the mountain, and looking back she marveled at the huge scale of the fortress. The people of the town also kept a fair distance from her, and she felt quite alone in the midst of so many people – not an unfamiliar feeling for her, nor really an unwelcome one.

Finding a bench in a shady spot behind a building, she took a seat and began reading a book. As the afternoon shadows stretched across the ground, and the tiny windows of the houses were lit one by one, she eventually put the book away and merely sat drumming her fingers on her knees. The evening air was much cooler and Quill enjoyed the fresh breeze carrying the sounds of crickets.

Several footsteps, and a few raised voices roused her from her spot behind the building, and she was surprised to find Altaïr, Emir and the one called Malik, apparently in search of something.

She walked up to them on silent feet, "Who are you looking for?" she asked quietly right behind them.

"You, actually," Altaïr said, giving her a frown.

"I didn't realize I needed permission to leave the fortress," she replied.

"Of course you don't. I… We just didn't know where you were."

"Oh," she said, "Where would I go?" a shadow of a smile tugging at her mouth.

"I don't know – back to Skyrim?" he said uncertainly, and added, "We're about to have dinner, are you hungry?"

"Sure," she said with a shrug, motioning for him to lead the way. In all honesty she felt awkward to be in his company again. She had been spending less and less time in the company of people ingeneral, and to suddenly actually be able to speak to him again, after the countless times she had wished that she could just have said goodbye, that she could just have one more conversation – this was surely too good to be true.

Dinner was a quiet affair – only herself, Malik, Emir and Altaïr. The wine helped to ease her still frayed nerves, and she soon felt herself relax slightly. The fact of the matter was, that she had very little appetite for food, and while only nibbling at a piece of bread she instead kept her lips occupied with her cup.

"I must admit, I am very glad I am getting the opportunity to meet you," Malik said after a long silence.

"Oh?" she asked.

"Well, I've heard quite a bit about you, and I was very curious," Malik said, giving her a half smile, ignoring a pointed look from Altaïr.

"It's vastly exaggerated, I assure you," she said flippantly, and Altaïr thought he once again detected something of her old self in her tone. She was slowly defrosting, so to speak.

"Oh, I doubt that."

She gave Malik an odd look, genuine amusement playing on her lips.

"Well, my brother did insist you were the best pickpocket he had ever seen, and I have seen you fight with my own eyes," Emir added.

She looked down at her plate, shaking her head. "I manage to get by. But now I realize why your fighting style looked so familiar," she replied, giving Altaïr a sideways look.

"If you are comparing me to Master Altaïr, then I am definitely taking that compliment - thank you."

She smirked at the title – finding it odd to use the title in his presence. Ulfric always did that, and it annoyed her to no end – apparently it also did Altaïr, as she saw him frown and shift in his seat.

"You're still collecting titles, I take it, 'Stormblade'?" Altaïr asked moving the attention from himself.

"I guess. Although most of the old ones are no longer applicable."

"How so?"

"I handed the college over to Tolfdir – I'm not a mage's ass worth (Malik nearly chocked, as he tried to stifle a chuckle); The Companions don't really need me there all that often, so I don't spend too much time there, but no one wants to take over the title; and I've just never been back to the Brotherhood, since… well, you know; The only one I use with any regularity these days is Nightingale," she said with a shrug. The titles all missing on Emir and Malik.

"And Stormblade – that's new though?"

"That one is at Ulfric's insistence."

"Ulfric?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know. As it turns out I'm the revolutionary hero – not the rebel criminal after all. The Stormcloaks won the civil war, and Ulfric is the new High King of Skyrim."

"And he gave you the title – for an achievement?" Altaïr asked.

"Yes. I played my part in the war, he doesn't forget his allies after he's won – especially not if they might still be of use to him," she said.

"Why do I have the feeling you more than 'played your part' in the war? You're not one disappear among the masses. Either way, good to know I befriended a hero in the end, rather than a criminal."

"Oh I never said I wasn't a criminal, just not a rebel," she replied, giving him a half smile. "Thieves guild, remember?"

"Oh, you're a thief? Emir asked, happy to find something he understood.

"On occasion," she replied, handing him a dagger he had though was attached to his belt.

"How'd you…?" he asked wide-eyed , his hand instinctively feeling the empty sheath. She merely gave him a shrug as she took another sip of wine.

"Oh before I forget – and my sister stabs me with the dagger you gave her – they would really like to see you, if you have a moment later," Emir continued. His sister was becoming quite a determined little thing, he wasn't sure whether he really wanted her to turn out quite like Quill, although he could think of worse role models for a young woman.

"Of course," she replied, all joking a side. "I think I will go now, if you'll excuse me," she said rising from the table. She felt oddly self-conscious, as if everyone – particularly Malik – was expecting something larger than life from her, and she wondered what Altaïr had told his friend about her.

"Do you want me to show you where they are?" he asked, a little confused.

"Oh no, I'll find them," she said, already having picked up their scent.

She walked along the dimly lit corridors, still catching snippets of the conversation between the three me.

"I must agree Altaïr, she is quite an enigma. I find her company quite refreshing," Malik said.

"And you should see her fight, Malik. Impressive – she wields two blades, and she is a fierce sight on a battle field - and I really think she is entirely fearless. You should have seen the determination in her eyes when she saved that woman in the Templar camp," Emir replied.

"She's different though," Altaïr's voice could just be heard as she continued further. "I wonder what has happened to her the last four years…"

Eventually out of earshot, she continued her silent path towards where her targets' smell lead her – erm, not targets, the _friends_ she was searching for. She found them in a lush and decorated garden, Rima watching as Mika tried keeping his balance on a thin balustrade.

"Hi," Quill said quietly.

Rima jumped in fright, but was instantly relieved when she saw who it was.

"Sorry, I'm still a little jumpy after the other night. I'm so glad to see you! How are you feeling?"

"I am well," she replied, taking a seat on the cool grass beside Rima.

Mika rushed towards the two, literally balling Quill over as he tackled her in his excitement, but Rima quickly pried her brother off the slightly dazed woman.

"You're alive! Not that I doubted you would be, of course," he said. "I thought you were hurt – your armor isn't even damaged?" he added, sounding slightly disappointed, clearly hoping for battle stories.

"Yes, I am glad of your confidence – but it was a mild cut. The armor is mag… special. It doesn't show damage," she replied, not sure whether she should use the word "magic". This also reminded her to check on her arm later, she hadn't even had a look at it yet.

Mika continued trying to impress them with his antics, while they sat in companionable silence.

Altaïr had mean while followed Quill out, and stood watching them from the doorway. She was definitely more closed off – but she seemed comfortable in the girl's company.

"I heard what you did – for the woman in the Templar camp – that was very brave of you," Rima said at length. "Did that man…?" she added, unable to finish the question.

"No," Quill replied simply, but not unkindly. "She obviously had a family, people who cared for her. I am no one here, and I had the means to protect myself – it was not much of a choice really."

Altaïr had heard the story too – the villagers had told it with wide admiring eyes. He remembered her as being equal parts reckless and brave, and he wasn't too surprised that she merely shrugged it off. He was surprised to find himself getting angry again thinking of her in such a situation – despite knowing that the man had already been dealt with, as probably only she could – he thought back to the first night he met her and what had happened to a man that had tortured one of her friends.

Quill's head turned slightly towards the door.

"Are you coming out?" she asked over her shoulder. Rima made a surprised little sound, as she shifted a bit uncomfortably.

"I don't wish to intrude," he said, nearing.

"Only to eaves drop?" Quill said, humor lacing her voice. Even in the dim light Rima's shocked expression could be seen at this playful jibe.

"Only if it's interesting," he replied with a grin, taking a seat beside Quill. Again he was sure she moved slightly away from him. He also noticed the large gap she had left between herself and the other girl. Perhaps it was people in general she didn't feel comfortable with, not just him.

Quill reached behind her, and brought Mika bodily in front of her, holding onto his wrist, a lopsided smile on her lips.

"Nope, still not careful enough," she told him, as he tried to squirm out of her grip.

"Oh come on! You promised you would show me!" he pleaded smiling broadly.

"The deal was you get me out of the city – I didn't know you were going to take me to a more dangerous place."

"That's not the point," he replied laughing. "The terms were 'get you away from the city' – you didn't specify where to."

"Very true. I am out-smarted by a kid," she said grinning, releasing his arm. "But tomorrow. I am far too tired tonight."

"I think we should turn in, it is late," Rima said, taking Mika's hand as they left.

Quill lay back on the grass, looking up to the clear sky.

"It's so dark with only one moon," she said with a sigh.

"For me it was too light with two," Altaïr replied.

"Ha, yeah I guess."

"What have you been doing for four years?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He had thought not to harass her with too many questions, but he was finding her all too distant and unfamiliar.

"This and that," she said with a shrug. "Killed Alduin; Won a civil war; Took a holiday; Found a hobby."

Altaïr laughed – she made it sound like a boring afternoon. "Where'd you go on holiday?" he asked, not really believing her.

"I built a house, actually. In the middle of nowhere, west of Dawnstar. It's quiet and peaceful, and has beautiful views of the water and the mountains, and it's very secluded, no one would even know its there."

"That hardly sounds like a holiday. What hobby did you get?"

"I collect things," she replied with a shrug. "What have you been doing?"

"The usual things. Keeping things in order, finding out what the Templars are up to," he replied, wondering at her dismissive manner. What was she hiding? "It… was not easy watching you face the dragon – entirely unable to help you," he said, instantly wondering why he had.

"I can't believe you were really there," she said with a small smile. "Just like you said you would be."

"No, I intended to help you, not watch you win, only to give up and die. Not even being able to yell at you for it," he replied with a bit of annoyance.

She gave him a long look, and a snort. "Still, you were there."

The two sat watching the stars silently for a while, the cool evening breeze carrying the new smells of that world to Quill.

"I think I'll also turn in for the night. It's been a rather eventful day. Should I walk you to your room?"

"No thank you. I will stay out here a little while longer."

She deliberately hadn't told him what she'd been collecting – if she had to say it out loud, she would feel far too foolishly obsessive. After she managed to survive the battle with Aldiun, and the war, she had come across a strange artifact by chance. When she realized it was something not of her world, she began searching for more items like it, eventually leading her to the man in the mountains west of Windhelm.

"_Well, in the end it did bring me here, even though I had long ago given up any prospect of ever seeing this world_," she thought.


	7. Training at Heights

Quill spent the night wandering the fortress and its grounds. She had been happy, not to mention surprised, to run into Shadowmere during the early hours of the morning. The horse had apparently taken to roaming freely about the grounds, as usual doing entirely as it pleased, and it whinnied happily on seeing her.

She knew Shadowmere would follow her where she went – she just hadn't given it much consideration to which lengths that would be applicable though. Patting the horse, she continued to roam around, exploring and snooping about. She didn't feel like going back to that overly scented room where she had woken earlier, instead she just forwent sleep that night. At one point she had passed Malik's room, and Altaïr's, and many other unfamiliar smelling rooms.

As the sun rose over the horizon, she found herself in a comfortable recess she knew, even though she had never actually been there before.

A desk cluttered with paper stood in the center, flanked by two large book cases, the floor flooded by the pink rays of daybreak through the huge ornate window behind it.

She curiously peered at the papers on the desk - reports, books, notes, there was barely any desk visible, but she recognized the well-worn corner of a Skyrim map she had long ago parted with peeking out beneath the clutter. She felt an uncomfortable knot in her throat, but stifled it immediately, turning to the book cases.

It was here that Altaïr found her, not too much later, perusing a book. She stood to the one side, almost entirely hidden in shadow, and it took him a moment to actually realize she was there. She was entirely engrossed in the material, and only noticed him once he stood right in front of, mere inches away. She jumped to the side, dropping the book while her hands flew instinctively to the hilts of her blades.

She gave him a wide eyed look - one that turned to embarrassment, as she lowered her hands and her eyes. Both bent down, her fingers briefly brushing his as they both took hold of the book. She let go almost instantly.

"Sorry, I hope it is not damaged," she said.

"No. It's fine," he replied after regarding her for a long moment. Looking down at the book, he saw it was an academic work about the Pieces of Eden, both known and suspected pieces and accounts thereof. "Find it interesting?"

She nodded. "Kind of reminds me of Daedric artifacts back home."

She shifted a few papers on his desk, and gave him a quirky look as she revealed the map she had given him. He smiled, shrugging in reply. Picking up his latest prototype of the modified hidden blade, she inspected it with interest.

"I've started modifying the design. Someone once told me a missing finger might be a give-away for assassins. I think it's almost done."

"Smart person. May I try it?" she asked, her eyes lighting up.

"I haven't tested it yet… I think it works, but I wouldn't..." before he could caution her against trying the untested blade, she pulled off her bracer and slipped the blade over her wrist, instantly closing her fist. He couldn't help but hold his breath – hoping that the thing worked properly.

"Very nice," she said admirably, turning it this way and that, so that the blade caught the morning light. "See, works fine."

"I am quite glad it does – I really did not feel like cleaning blood off my desk," he said with a mix of annoyance and relief. Just as foolhardy and stubborn as he remembered.

She placed it back on his desk, and clucked as she inspected her bracer before putting it on again. "Everything is full of sand and dust," she remarked, brushing the leather.

"You get used to it."

"Hmph."

"Altaïr, there you are. Oh, good morning Quill, sleep well?" Malik asked.

"Good morning."

"Anyway, sorry Altaïr but there's a bunch of youngsters in the training ring, and I don't know what we're going to do with this lot," he continued, pressing the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

"Oh?" Quill asked curiously.

"They're not taking it seriously – it's a social event to them. I think they will be more inclined to focus if Altaïr is there."

"Very well, I'll come give them some incentive," he replied.

"Mind if I tag along?" Quill asked, not sure what else she would do to keep herself occupied.

"Sure, you might even pick something up," Malik said, but on seeing her expression regretted the way it had sounded.

"Oh really?" she asked incredulously.

"I didn't mean it quite like that…" he tried to rectify.

"Oh no no, don't try to back out of that one," she said, her eyes narrowed and her lips curved into a wolfish smile. "I'll bet I can beat your novices at whatever task is set for them."

Altaïr was about to tell her that he wasn't planning the kind of training she had in mind, but she had made her bold statement before he could even open his mouth.

"Very well, this should be very educational," Malik said smiling.

The would-be assassins were led around towards the back of the fortress. Shadowed in the great towers of the keep, Quill became slightly ill at ease, realizing that fighting was not what he had planned.

"Apparently training has become boring. So we will forgo further arms training today, instead we will see whether you are as nimble as you seem to think your tongues are," Altaïr said, looking meaningfully up to the top of the tower.

Learning to scale walls was always an interesting measure of the young hopefuls that wanted to be assassins. And as usual he saw majority of their faces fall as they realized what he meant. Those that kept a straight face when it came to climbing, would definitely also become more worried once they reached the top – since the next part was getting down – and not climbing down.

He was however interested to see Quill's face blanche too.

He started up the wall first – a show of how it should be done – with the rest following him.

Quill looked up at the tower, noting exactly where Altaïr placed each foot and hand – some of the places seeming impossible to her. Swallowing hard, she was the first to attempt to follow him. She managed to make good time, despite nearly losing her footing several times – each miss-step would be followed by a few muttered obscenities.

By the time she reached the top, she was visibly shaken, and quite pale – well paler than usual. Altaïr stepped near her as she edged herself away from the ledge, the others still quite a way down.

"Are you afraid of heights?" he asked.

For a long moment she stood with her hands on her knees, taking deliberate deep breaths.

"I have a healthy respect of the adverse effects that falling from great heights would have on my person – yes."

"But I saw you ride a dragon – that's much higher than this."

"Yes, but a dragon won't spontaneously plummet from the sky for no good reason," she quipped. "I really do wish you had _actual_ training planned, or at least warned me…"

"You were the mouthy one," he said with a half-smile, just as the rest started reaching the top.

Looking up, Quill saw Malik standing off to one side, a bemused smile on his lips.

"There's stairs, isn't there," she said.

"Yes, but that would defy the aim of the exercise," Malik replied jokingly.

"Ugh."

"Well done – however, before you get too impressed with yourselves, the really hard part is getting back down."

Quill mouthed the word 'stairs?' to Malik, to which he simply smiled and shook his head. Altaïr stepped forward onto a small wooden platform that extended past the edge of the tower, and jumped.

With wide eyes, and a sudden dismissal for the height they were at, Quill pressed past the others, and leaned over the edge, just in time to see Altaïr land neatly in a pile of hay. She breathed out a sign of relief, but turning around, found Malik directly behind her.

"I'm sorry," he said really looking the part, as realization dawned on her horror stricken face, he shoved her over the edge.

To her own credit, Quill was quite surprised that she managed not to scream the entire way down.

She stumbled out of the hay, livid.

"YOL!" The force behind the shout caused a slight vibration to shiver through the ground and the tower walls - incinerating the hay instantly, before she stalked off.

Passing Altaïr she merely held her hand up to him, warning him not to say a word. The rest of the group was ushered silently to a different jumping point – one that actually still had a pile of hay at the bottom.

She made her way back to the now empty training ring, her temper still simmering. Drawing her blades she leapt at one of the defenseless dummies, her hands itching to cause damage to something. The first was ripped in half as she gave her annoyance free rein. The second was beheaded – breaking the pole that kept the dummy upright at its 'neck'; the third and fourth didn't fare too much better either – their hay innards floating gently down after being ripped from their containing bags by explosive strikes.

Rolling her shoulders, Quill felt considerably calmer. Sheathing her weapons she looked up towards the front door, and saw a group of women watching her with wide eyes – all reflected a kind of awed fearfulness – except the one face she recognized. Rima's eyes were wide too, but with admiring interest. Quill recognized the look, she too had a similar one when she watched Varkas and Aela spar in earnest for the first time.

The other women left, a few of them with an audible huff, but Rima remained fixed in place, until Quill came to stand beside her, leaning her arms on the railing.

"That… was incredible," she said almost breathlessly. "I'm sorry, you must hear that a lot…"

"No, not really," she replied, with a bemused smile. "Actually, where I come from, it's nothing funny to see a woman with a sword. And I'm not the most proficient fighter myself."

"I find that hard to believe. I wish I at least knew something about fighting. I am entirely incapable of defending myself," Rima said, almost wistfully.

"It's not that hard – I mostly go on instinct. I've never really been formally trained. But it's amazing how self-preservation takes over if you find yourself in a truly bad situation. Come, I'll give you a few tips, if you'd like?"

"Really?" she asked excitedly.

Moments later the two were standing in the training ring, Rima had a dagger drawn, as the afternoon shadows stretched across the ground.

"Should we be using real weapons?"

Quill gave her a confused look. "Yes. What's the point of using something else? Now, approach me with your weapon, as if to take a strike. No, like you really mean it."

Even on the second attempt Rima was uncertain as she took a half-hearted swipe in Quill's direction.

"No," Quill instructed. "Think of that man at the well. Take a swipe at me – but see him."

This had a much better effect. She moved forward with two quick steps, using the dagger to stab towards her opponent. Quill used her left hand to push the dagger aside, but smiled at the girl's sudden gusto.

"That's better. I just wanted to loosen you a bit. You were far too worried that you might hurt me, or that you shouldn't be doing this in the first place. If I was really someone else, I might not have seen that coming, and you would quite likely have done a bit of damage."

They continued in a slow paced mock fight, Quill not pushing too much to increase the tempo, giving her time to feel more comfortable with a blade. After about half an hour, they moved quite fluidly, Rima's strikes were less obvious, and she had learned quickly to watch Quill's moves and block where she could. By the end she might not have beat an experienced opponent in a serious fight. But if she was attacked, she might have been able to at least defend herself a bit. The biggest advantage was the fact that she looked harmless. No one expects a harmless thing to put up a fight.

Sheathing her swords, and giving Rima a satisfied nod, she noticed for the first time that they were being watched.

From the steps of the door, Emir stood with his arms folded over his chest – his face not exactly the picture of happiness. Rima's smile faded instantly as she took in her brother's stormy countenance, clearly aggravated further when he abruptly turned and left. The girl rushed after him, leaving Quill to stare after the siblings in confusion.

It was only then that she saw the familiar shadow move away from the ornate window above the doorway. She was beginning to get the feeling that she had somehow transgressed, and she meant to ask Altaïr as much.

The first person she ran into, was however Malik. She glowered at him, folding her arms across her chest – momentarily finding it more important to needle him about earlier.

"You did quite well," he said, giving her one of his little smirks. He liked to smirk, she was realizing.

She merely raised her eyebrows, and began tapping a foot in annoyance.

"I did say I was sorry. I did unfortunately have to make a point."

"And what point would that be?" she said through her teeth. "That you don't value your life much?"

"I… what?" he asked slightly shocked.

Truth be told, Quill wasn't really that upset anymore. Her tension was mostly relieved on the unsuspecting training dummies, and she found it strangely satisfying to have spent some time teaching Rima basic defensive methods.

As such she gave Malik a broad grin. "I really don't like heights."

He shook his head at her in confusion. "Well, am I right in saying you did learn something?"

"Yes – but let's not dwell on that too much, shall we?" she replied with an involuntary shudder at the thought of the ground so far below her.

"Very well."

"You haven't seen Emir around? I think I might have offended him."

"By teaching his sister which side of a dagger is the pointy one? I don't know, he did seem upset. I saw him heading towards his quarters. Perhaps he is there."

Thanking him, Quill left to follow mostly her nose to where Emir was. His scent was odd – he was definitely not impressed.


	8. A Stupid Idea Follows Another

She found Emir pacing a small balcony attached to his room. She knocked before entering, but she doubted that he even heard it – he did look surprised when he eventually noticed her leaning with her back against the door frame.

"What's on your mind?" she asked, having surmised that he might not actually be angry, but that his behavior had a different cause, merely being triggered by what he saw in the training ring.

He narrowed his eyes, clearly still in a foul mood, but then he signed, running his hand over his face.

"Nothing... its nothing."

"Sure…" she said, inspecting her nails. "Why did it upset you that Rima might learn how to use a weapon?"

"It was none of your business, you had no right to get yourself mixed up in that," he bit back.

Quill arched one brow, a hard smile tugging at her lips. "Get myself mixed up? I didn't do anything. She came to me. Should I have refused her?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

He regarded her steadily.

"Why should I not teach her how to at least be able to offer some kind of resistance should she find herself again in a position where she is under threat? In fact – why haven't _you_ taught her?"

"You know, she thinks our parents died because they were attacked by bandits. She was too small to really remember them, Mika was still a baby. They died because they went to root out the bandits in their hideout. If my mother had not gone with them - we would not have lost both our parents - if she had stayed home..." The words "like she should have" hung unsaid and heavy in the air between them.

They heard a gasp just around the corner of the door, and the sudden patter of retreating feet. Quill felt stupid, she hadn't even picked up Rima's scent until that moment – she had been so focused on the conversation.

"Ah crap. That's just perfect," Emir muttered, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He pushed past Quill to go in search of his sister.

"Dammit," Quill muttered as she too left. "Well that was a stupid idea..." she thought, feeling annoyed that she had caused trouble for her new friends.

She didn't understand a culture where the women were so sheltered, at least back home, if a woman chose a quiet life it was - mostly - because she had wanted that life. Sure not always, but usually there were at least options.

She left the room feeling annoyed and foolish. More foolish – but that was what annoyed her. She should have paid more attention.

Grumbling to herself, she went to her room (she really needed to ask someone to put her up in another room – she couldn't stand the sickly sweet scent that hung in that entire wing) to change clothes. She wasn't really changing for comfort reasons, although the linen outfit was a bit cooler, but she planned to clean the Nightingale armor – still not impressed with the layer of dust on it. She wore a plain white linen tunic and dark leggings and a wine red coat, with black bear fur and golden embroidery around the cuffs and collar, tied with a dark leather belt. Fur, she was realizing, was really too much there – she briefly considered trimming it from the coat, but decided against it.

She wandered to where they had dinner the previous evening, armor, oil and cloth in the ready for a good cleaning, but she was surprised to find only Altaïr there, reading. He looked up at her in surprise.

"What are you wearing?" he asked, with a half-smile and a confused frown.

"Hey, I have other clotes…" she replied, playfully defensive. "You've actually seen me wear something other than the Nightingale armor – three times, if I remember correctly."

"Yes, you were wearing some other armor that night we met, and then when you had to get stitches," he paused pretending to try and remember the last. "Of course. The ensemble the women dressed you in when you arrived here," he said eventually, with a smirk.

"That did not count as clothing…" she said with a haughty sniff.

"Keep telling yourself that," he said with a bright smile.

She took a seat on one of the benches, and packed out her selection of leather oils and cloths. She took the care of her armor very seriously, and began with one bracer, first wiping the majority of the dust off, then using a Mountain Flower water mixture she cleaned off the rest. The next step was oiling the leather to a bright sheen, lastly she applied a balsam made from a mixture of Garlic and Frost Mirriam, bringing the shine down and leaving the leather velvet soft to the touch.

"Why did you change your face paint?" he asked after a while of watching her process, and noticing that she was actually unpainted for once.

"Mmm? Oh," she said shifting her focus to him. "War paint is a very personal thing – it might change when big things happen in your life. I decided to change mine after Alduin was defeated. I wanted some outward mark of what had happened, and in a way how I too had changed after."

He found it odd that she would never say 'when I defeated Alduin' it would always be more a statement than an acknowledgement that she was the one to defeat him.

"From what I remember, he did leave his mark on you, a rather prominent set of marks actually."

"Well no one sees _those_ marks," she said, a slight blush creeping to her cheeks as she returned her eyes to her work. He laughed.

"Why have you been avoiding company so much – I see it even here, you have barely spoken to me since you got here, and the only people you seem comfortable with, is Emir's siblings."

"Well _that_ boat has sailed," she muttered more to her self. "Things _were_ different after Alduin, or perhaps I was different. On the one hand everyone was keen to have the dragon destroyed, but not much changed after he was gone - the civil war continued, undeterred; petty squabbles and ordinary things. It was hard to find those everyday things so important after being to Sovngarde. I don't know, I guess it was asking too much for life to become rainbows and unicorns after I got back. I also kept having this terrible feeling…" she paused here, shaking her head. "Ah, never mind."

"Terrible feeling of what?"

"Like I was superior to everyone else," she said with a self-directed sneer. It had been a long time since she really spoke to anyone, shared her inner thoughts, and it felt at once strange and dangerous, and yet also comfortable – remembering how easily the chatted when they were together in Skyrim.

"I have felt the same – when I was younger and at my most arrogant. I've also told you what it cost me, and others to bring me to realization." He knew what it felt like – even now he always had to keep himself in check. The little voice that tells you, 'you are better, faster, smarter' – it never really goes away.

"At first it was only a nagging at the back of my mind, but after I came back from Solstheim it got really bad."

"Sols-what? Where's that?"

"It's an island that once belonged to Skyrim, but was given to the elves as a refuge when they fled their homeland Morrowind a long time ago. The elves were really none too friendly to a northerner, mind you."

"What happened there? Why did you go there – part of your 'holiday'?"

She laughed at him. "I was having trouble with a bunch of cultists attacking me on a far too regular basis, so I went to root the bastards out at their source. Turned out one of the Dragon Priests of old – they worshipped the dragons when they ruled Skyrim – had turned against his former masters, and become as power mad as they were. His name was Miraak – and he was also Dragonborn."

"So you're not the only one? And what does it matter that he betrayed the dragons hundreds of years ago?"

"Oh no, there has been before me. And will probably be more to come after me too - we're just not exactly common occurances. Miraak was searching for a way back to Nirn – and he wanted my soul to get the power I had accumulated, for himself. I learned a lot during my search for him, and the battle we fought. But some of what I learned just made the burning hunger for power even worse."

"You defeated him then?" he asked, feeling kind of disappointed that he had not been dreaming about Skyrim anymore at that time – sure it must have been quite something to witness. She nodded.

"I almost wish I could have seen _that_... But still, why entirely become a recluse?"

"Just think," she said with an oddly haunted smile, her eyes focusing somewhere far away. "High Queen of Skyrim – I helped Ulfric get the throne, but at a mere mention I could have him deposed – all the guilds would rally to me, many of Ulfric's own army would too. Who would dare deny me with an army of dragons at my beck and call? Taking Skyrim would be easy. I could expand our borders south – first taking Cyrodiil – the heart of the Empire, then spreading out – till all of Tamriel kneels in fearful submission before me…" She shook her head, with a sad smile. "But that's not really what I want – even though the thoughts whisper in my ear when I sleep. It's easier just to stay away from people."

Altaïr remained quiet for a long while considering her admission to a silent and terrible ambition that she wished she could dismiss, the only sound that of the cloth making repeated passes over leather. He could almost picture the person she spoke of – warrior queen, gilded armor and all, with an army so fearsome the world trembles at their feet – except he could not picture that face belonging to Quill. It just sounded so unlike her, and he thought that was why it scared her too.

"Does it help – staying away from people?"

"Not really," she said with a sheepish smile.

"Isn't it kind of pointless then?"

"I guess," she admitted. She wasn't about to tell him the second part of it though. Truth be told, she had been fairly gloomy after he'd left. She didn't feel like being in other people's company, and after a while it became habit. She stayed away from people out of habit. It was rather pathetic really.

They sat quietly for a long while as Quill moved through each elaborate piece of the black armor, till everything was spotless. But apparently she wasn't done yet – she removed her swords, cleaning their scabbards in the same methodical rhythm, and lastly the hilts and blades got a wipe down too. She inspected the edge of each, making funny little faces when she found a nick or a dull point, which he found very entertaining to watch. She was entirely absorbed in her task, and he was sure if he spoke to her then she would not even hear him.

"I don't suppose you have a smith that could temper Dragonbone?" she asked eventually, sounding almost hopeful.

"I doubt it, honestly. We could see if someone can manage anything with it, but I don't think anyone here would know what you're talking about," he replied, noting the shimmer of some kind of magic across the blades.

"Figures," she said with a disappointed huff.

Collecting her cleaning items, she started towards the door, but stopped, as if in indecision, before saying almost inaudibly soft, "Altaïr…" his name sounding like a question.

He looked up, still standing with the book half closed in his hands, regarding her curiously. Turning to face him, she hesitated a moment, biting her lower lip. She was well aware that this was a stupid idea – but then, she had spent the better part of four years wishing for a second chance…

She took hold of the Assassin's hood, and pulled him quite firmly towards her, raising herself slightly on the balls of her feet, she kissed him deeply.

He was quite taken by surprise – dropping the book at his feet, as he felt her cool lips on his, her breath tasting of some exotic Skyrim berry. She always felt a few degrees colder than him.

At length she released her grip, sinking back onto her heels.

"Um, good-bye – for four years ago," she said. She met his eyes briefly, before looking deliberately away, a strange little smile on her lips.

Without another word she turned and left – leaving him to stare after her in stunned silence.


	9. A Quiet Moment

After putting her amour away – and regrettably realizing she had forgotten to ask for a different room – Quill made her way to a common room of sorts. There was a hearth with a small fire burning, more for atmosphere than heat, a few low benches and stacks of pillows on the carpeted floor. To the one side a few young men sat playing a card game, which they paused to regard her wordlessly as she entered. She took a seat close to the hearth, the fire pouring a cozy glow over the room.

. . .

Altaïr tried in vain to continue reading, but after the third book was unable to hold his attention for more than a few minutes, he finally gave up. He was trying hard to deny the thoughts that Quill had left him with – they both knew anything between them was futile. They should never have met, never been able to meet. And yet they had.

And while the young and foolish might decide to throw caution to the wind in the face of their feelings, Altaïr was far too careful and realistic to do that – and so was Quill, he knew from past experience. But that didn't magically make their attraction disappear. With a frustrated grunt, he blew out the candles that stood near the book case and went in search of a better distraction. The evening had grown chilly, and the wind howled a lonely song through the corridors.

From one of the common rooms a merry fire beckoned warm and comforting, and the low melody of a lute drifted out to meet him. Altaïr found Quill seated near the fire on a low bench, majority of the residents of the fort gathered around to list to the unfamiliar music she played. He had no idea she knew how to play an instrument.

The tune had an otherworldly quality, and it reminded him of the songs he heard in Jorrvaskr and the Bannered Mare. Malik too had joined the company, and even Emir – Altaïr was curious as to the disagreement between Quill and Emir, but had thought it best to leave it well alone. If they required his help they need only ask, but he was sure both of them would just brush it off if he were to comment on it.

"Does that song have words?" Emir's little brother asked. He was seated with is sister close next to Quill, watching her with eager bright eyes.

"Yes," she replied softly.

"Would you sing it?" Mika asked hopefully.

"I'm not much of a bard…" she began protesting, but with the general encouragement of several of those present she conceded reluctantly.

"A long time ago, all men in Skyrim were slaves to the dragons, but they grew restless and waged a terrible and futile war against their masters. The leader of the dragons, Alduin, sought to rid himself of the nuisance, as he saw the humans. This is the tale of his defeat…" she began, strumming the cords in a gentle repeat.

"Alduin's wings, they did darken the sky. His roar fury's fire, and his scales sharpened scythes.  
Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died. They burned and they bled as they issued their cries.  
_Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin, wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!  
__Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan, Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!  
_We need saviors to free us from Alduin's rage. Heroes on the field of this new war to wage.  
And if Alduin wins, man is gone from this world. Lost in the shadow of the black wings unfurled.  
But then came the Tongues on that terrible day. Steadfast as winter, they entered the fray.  
And all heard the music of Alduin's doom. The sweet song of Skyrim, sky-shattering Thu'um.  
And so the Tongues freed us from Alduin's rage. Gave the gift of the Voice, ushered in a new Age.  
If Alduin is eternal, then eternity's done. For his story is over and the dragons are... gone."

Her voice was surprisingly soothing, and created a lull over all present. She sang in a low husky voice, that sent quiet tremors of power reverberating through the room, not perhaps a voice of some great musician, but enchanting in its raw earthy melody. Altaïr was quite sorry to hear the song finish, and from the expressions of the others he would say they felt it too.

"Play it again, oh please," Mika pleaded. But she merely gave him a little smile and shook her head.

"That wasn't the defeat of Aldiun though – surely there are new tales of his true defeat?" Altaïr said, causing several people, including Quill, to suddenly notice him hovering in the door-way.

She gave him a glowering look, but he merely returned it with a hopefully expectant one. Quill chuckled, rolling her eyes with annoyance – part mock and part actual. She clearly didn't like to be the focus of such attention.

"Yes," she replied. "Although it is much shorter. I wonder if I should complain to someone about that…?"

She expertly faded her current rhythm into the next, and began the next tune – although with a little less enthusiasm than the previous one.

"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart. I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.  
With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art. Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.  
It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes. Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.  
For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows. You'll know, You'll know the Dragonborn's come."

She finished off the tune fading the melody into silence, and placed the lute next to the hearth saying, "and now I really am done playing."

She frowned as Emir pushed off from the wall and left. She would have to try and smooth things over with him – but she wasn't sure how. She didn't really agree with his point of view, even though she felt pity for them even more, knowing how they came to be orphans. But in Skyrim it would have been a point of honor, not something to be ashamed of. She decided to give him some more time to cool off – not wanting to make it worse by hounding him while he was still clearly so upset. As far as Rima was concerned, she looked a little more withdrawn than usual, and her eyes held a new sadness, but Quill suspected the girl was glad to finally know the truth – however betrayed she might feel that she only learned that truth accidentally.

"How are you doing?" Quill asked her as the general crowd became more rowdy and interested in their own pursuits again. She regretted unwittingly imposing this new sadness on her.

Rima gave her a small smile, and a shrug.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry you had to find out that way," she said, knowing the words were useless.

"That's alright," she replied, but as Mika returned from one of the tables, she quickly snubbed the topic. Clearly he was still unaware.

"When will you show me how to pick pockets like you?" he pleaded, taking Quill's hand.

"Under the current circumstances, I am unsure whether I should be instructing you in anything," Quill replied, eyeing Rima cautiously. But the girl gave one definite nod.

"Very well," she continued. "It's not so much that I should show you. Your mistake is in actually brushing or bumping against your target. While for most people that would go unnoticed in a crowd, it is a dead give-away when the person has time to focus on you. See?" she said, displaying a little charm in her hand she had picked off him while she had been talking.

"So that's it…?" he said, sounding slightly disappointed.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. That and lots of practice. You didn't think it was magic, did you?" she asked teasingly.

"No. I guess. Although, it might almost look like it when you do it."

She laughed at his awe in her own skill. She had been caught enough times in her early days to know how quickly one learns to be quick and quiet. Running from angry guards or sometimes over eager victims was not something one relished.

Mika used the leisurely assassins as practice, which caused quite some amusement. Some found it funny when they caught him, others let him get away with it, and a few actually didn't notice his efforts at all. It was a good group for a young pick pocket, they were more keenly aware of their surroundings than most people, and if he learned to do it well on them, he might never be caught for real.

Rima had left the room, telling Mika to join her not too long after.

Quill watched him with a bemused expression. She liked kids – something not many people knew about her. She liked how inherently optimistic they could be, and how everything could be interesting to their wide-eyed curiosity. She was no fool, she knew children weren't all like that, and even those that were, could be downright little horrors should they feel like it the day. But it made her smile, forgetting all the bad in the world and all her own sad memories to watch the boy eagerly flit about the room picking pockets.

"And that smile?"

Quill looked up to find Altaïr regarding her with an odd expression. She already felt a fool for her actions earlier, and thought she might read too much into the look in his eyes, she knew she had just confused things further. She had after all been the one to push him away the previous time, and then she went and instigated it.

"Oh, nothing."

"No, what? I'm curious what you're thinking," he pressed, taking a seat next to her.

"I just like to see how eager he is. Lots of things are more simple when one is a child. I like watching happy children, reminds me of how carefree I too once was," she replied quietly.

"I think you'd make a good mother," he replied after a long silence. He was surprised by her startled look, and he thought he saw a deep seated pain hidden in her expression too.

"What in Tamriel makes you say that? I think you might be the only person to have ever said so. Most people would think me a most unsuitable candidate, I'm sure."

"You wouldn't like people to know it – but you do have softer side, beneath the joking and guarded slightly unpredictable temper. You care a lot about those around you. That's why you have a tendency for jumping headlong into any situation to help someone, with no regard for yourself."

"It's exactly that lack of self-preservation that would make me so unsuitable," she said with a slightly harsh laugh. "Besides, people like us… we don't get that life, to settle down. There's always another battle, always another horizon beckoning."

"I have been inclined to believe that too once, but I still sincerely hope you are wrong. I see no reason why 'people like us' can't have both."

"Perhaps," she said with a shrug, and after a moment of silence left the room.

She had sought solitude in the garden, walking along the tree lined terraces when she caught the sound of soft foot steps behind her, and a familiar smell.

"Malik," she said stopping, without turning to see who it was.

"How'd you know it was me?" he asked after a brief pause.

"I heard you."

"I didn't make a sound!" he said defensively, coming to lean against the trailing next to her.

"You did. But just a little," she said with a grin. "Anyone else would not have heard it."

"But you did?"

She declined answering, instead just giving him a smug smile.

"If you don't mind me asking, how'd you come to be here?" he asked, slightly awkwardly.

"I assume you don't mean in the garden? I was chasing someone, and fell off a cliff - no really - and woke up here in some city on a roof."

"You fell off a cliff? Alright. But, I mean, when Altaïr went to your world, it was the Apple that took him there. What brought you here?"

Altaïr had joined them, she picked up his scent before he was entirely through the door.

"It is a good question - how did you get here? Not that I... we're complaining," he added.

She sighed. She would have to tell them - they should know. As silly as she felt for admitting her past-time.

"Very well. When I said I had started collecting things over the last few years, I neglected to mention that I've been collecting artefacts. I started with Daedric objects. Not really for the power they held, but more to keep myself busy. They make great décor items... I owe so many princes things by now, I can't even remember the half," she said with a smirk. Malik looked confused, but Altaïr motioned for her to continue.

"I came across a blade, not a sword, just the blade. And initially I thought it was some unknown Daedric prince's item. But after not finding any information on it, from anyone - and I tried - I realised what it was. It was a one of your Pieces of Eden. I don't know how it leaked through to there, but I just knew that's what it was."

"So you started looking for more? That's what you've been doing?"

"Well that. And the war. And Miraak, and so on. But yes. I have actually found the rest of the bits to make up the complete sword. That was the item I was chasing the man for, that sent us both over a cliff. I knew these items had power in your world, and honestly I couldn't bare the thought of some halfwit doing something stupid like trying to bring a dragon, or a dragonborn over here," she snorted at the irony.

The evenings had grown colder since Quill had arrived, and she enjoyed the brisk evening air. She also knew that it probably meant she was affecting their world, acting like and 'anchor' as Tolfdir had explained it - drawing more and more of Skyrim into their world, the effect being felt more the longer she was there.

"But that's a good thing," Malik said finally. "If you have a Piece, then that means the Templars don't. And, like you said, neither does some halfwit that doesn't know what they have. We should should have a look at it in the morning, with fresh eyes. I am eager to discuss it."

"I agree. But, why were you so secretive about it in the first place?" Altaïr asked with a quizzical look.

She merely shrugged, and he thought he caught a faint colour to her cheeks, and decided not to push the subject. He somehow knew the answer, and she would not have liked to admit, perhaps even to him, that she had been hoping to be brought there. Even after four years.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Please listen to the beautiful renditions of the songs above by **Malukah** - "Tale of the Tongues" and "The Dragonborn Comes".


	10. The Things We Lose

The following morning dawned bright, but with a cool breeze wafting through the keep, and Quill was bemused to find the people she passed pulling cloaks tightly around their shoulders.

"Morning," she chirped as she entered Altaïr's study.

Altaïr and Malik looked up, almost surprised at her chipper mood. They too had donned slightly warmer clothing, and Quill raised an eyebrow at the sight of a familiar white cloak draped across the Master Assassin's shoulders. She touched the fur trim momentarily with a smile, before dropping her bag on the table.

"Why is that bag so heavy - what do you carry around in there?" Malik asked, again amazed at the loud thump the bag made.

"Almost everything I own that could come in handy, and that's not furniture or cluttering one of my houses, that is."

"Either you don't have that much, or I don't understand how it fits in there..."

"It's, well, magic. I guess," she replied with a shrug. "It can hold a lot more than the size might lead you to believe. Such as this..."

She drew a blade from the bag - one that should not have fit in there without poking a whole straight trough. Next she took out the hilt of the blade. They assumed that was everything, but she continued to rummage in the depths of the pockets, clearly still looking for something.

"Why haven't you put it back together again?" Altaïr asked, studying the immaculate edge of the old blade, time had done nothing to blunt or diminish it.

"I didn't have all the pieces, remember," Quill replied, huffing in annoyance as she peered into the bag, tilting it this way and that to find the last part. "Oh where is it...!"

They sensed her search for it was becoming slightly more frantic as she continued. "Besides," she added, "I wasn't sure if the blade had more or the same amount of power if it were in parts, as opposed to in pieces. I didn't want to saddle myself with more trouble than I needed."

"It certainly looks like the sword here in this book - but I see now what you are looking for," Altaïr said, after leafing through a few scrolls and pages. He tapped the page in front of him - a beautifully drawn sword under his finger. The blade was long and slender, and both it and the hilt shone with a goldish aura. But the picture of the sword showed a decorative bauble, with wing-like protrusions, missing from the hilt.

With a final sigh, Quill reluctantly tipped the bag onto the floor next to the table.

Malik, and even Altaïr, stared in wonder as several weapons - daggers, a slick black bow, a pick axe; a few items of clothing, amulets and rings, a myriad of tiny bottles filled with bright and dangerously colored liquid, chunks of iron, gold and silver ore tumbled from the bag in a seemingly ceaseless flow, with plenty of herbs and odd looking animals parts sprinkled in between. Quill paid them no mind, pushing things around as they fell, clearly searching for the final item. When the items eventually stopped, she half expectantly looked inside the bag again, giving it one last testing shake. But nothign more came.

"Damnation," she hissed as she started patting the other pockets of her armor.

"Where is it?" Altaïr asked, not liking the answer he knew he was going to get.

"It... it was in my bag..." she replied finally, sitting on her knees amidst the contents of her bag, her shoulders noticeably drooped.

"Perhaps it fell out in you room?" Malik suggested, unable to escape the feeling of tenseness closing around his chest.

"Maybe, but I doubt it. Speaking of which - I would really appreciate a proper room. That one has too much gauzy fabrics for my taste. Let's see is we can find it," she said as she shoved the items unceremoniously back into her bag.

"Shouldn't you organize those? How will you find anything in there again?"

"No, it sort of categorizes itself."

"Wow, I really do need to get one of those," Malik said as they followed her out towards her rooms.

After an extensive search of the rooms and surrounding areas yielding nothing, Quill grew more agitated, while Altaïr and Malik grew more silent.

"Well, I don't like to say this, but - someone must have taken it," she said eventually, almost to herself.

"I am inclined to agree with you," Altaïr said.

Malik only muttered a curse.

"They might not know what they have though." Quill looked pensive.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, if they were looking for the sword they would not have taken only one part. And they were all together, so it would be hard to miss the others when one part was found."

"Yes, but perhaps they don't know how to 'organize' your bag, and with the amount of things in there..."

"That was the smallest part. Finding it would have been harder than finding the other two. Unless..." Quill paused. "It was on a golden chain, the man I took it from wore it around his neck - like an amulet!"

"So...?" Malik asked, not wanting to get too optimistic too soon.

"So they might think they have taken a trinket, a mere prize. They might not even know what they have."

"That would be lucky for us. But how do we find our pick pocket?"

"Oh of course!" she replied, closing her eyes. "I think I know who has it. Mika, Emir's little brother."

"That would make sense - he's in awe of you," Altaïr said with a half smile. "It would be the ultimate satisfaction to get something off of you."

"I must really be out of sorts if I didn't realize he had taken it. It was probably just the first thing his fingers touched and that's how he ended up with it."

"Has anyone seen him or his sister around this morning? I don't like to think that he might inadvertently loose it..." Malik muttered, seeming a bit relieved.

The three renewed their search, but this time for Emir or Rima and their little brother. Once they had been through the entire keep, sleeping quarters and kitchens included, and the training grounds, they were as frustrated as when they set out.

"I don't get it," Quill muttered, taking a seat on a near by bench. "Where could they have gotten to?" They had ended up in the town at the base of the fortress.

"It really does not make sense. I also haven't seen Emir, and surely he would know where they are," Altaïr agreed.

"You were looking for me?" a voice said from around a corner.

"Ah Emir - yes, well actually we've been looking for your little brother," Malik said, glad for the serendipitous meeting.

"Mika? I've been searching for my brother and sister all morning..." he said, confusion and worry on his face as he gave Quill a quick glance.

"You mean you don't know where they are either?" she asked, rising slowly to her feet.

"No. I just figured Rima was still angry with me and that they might be with you." He shook his head. "Why are you looking for them?"

"Mika is a very promising pick pocket - and as such he has gotten his hands on something I had in my possession that could prove to be very dangerous. This is not good Altaïr," she said, turning to the Master Assassin.

"What did he take?" Emir asked, giving each of them a worried look.

"The item itself isn't dangerous - on its own. It is very likely that no-one even knows it is here, let alone that he has it. But..." Quill hesitated a moment, but pushed on. "But I fear if the wrong people were to find out it could pose a threat to not only your brother but everyone else here."

"It's something the Templars are after then." It was a statement, not a question. Altaïr nodded once.

For the lack of better direction, they headed back to the keep, all in brooding silence.

"Oh, Emir," a man called after them as they already passed him.

"You were looking for your siblings earlier, yes?"

The man nearly staggered back as all four suddenly focused solely on him. "Yes, have you seen them?" Emir asked, with a slight edge to his voice.

"Yes," he replied, if a bit uncertainly. "They were walking out with one of the assassins, perhaps an hour ago."

"Out? Out where?" Malik asked.

"Which assassin?" Altaïr added.

"I... I do not know. He was dressed in the robes, but I have never seen him before. I just thought he was new. They left through the town gates."

"There hasn't been anyone new."

"The gates? Where would they be going? Did you hear them say anything perhaps?" Emir asked.

"No, they just passed me in the street."

Thanking him, they hurried towards the gate - if they had taken a horse, the stable master might be able to give them more information. Walking through the heavy structure Quill looked around curiously. She had not been this far before, and although the situation demanded her focus, she was still curious to see new areas. They had barely turned towards the stables when Quill sudden froze, frowning.

"What is it?" Altaïr asked quietly.

"I..." she took a few steps to one side, the a few forward before bending down. Her fingers touched a small wet patch in the dirt - something small and entirely missable. As she stood, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together, the red blood spread across her finger tips. She slowly raised her eyes to meet his, her expression unreadable. Malik and Emir leaned closer too.

Emir swore under his breath, running his hands through his hair in despair.

"There aren't any horses gone - they must have left on foot. Let us walk a ways and see if we can spot their tracks."

A short distance from the gates they did find something - but not what they had hoped.

Propped up with her back against a rock, sat Rima, her face pale and hands shaking. From the looks of things she had crawled a distance, but had become too exhausted to continue. Further down the path the body of a man lay face down in the dusty path.

"Rima!" Emir exclaimed as he rushed to her - her clothing was slick and dark with blood.

"Emir," she smiled faintly. "You found me. I was trying to get back to the village. But I couldn't make it..." she sounded disappointed in herself for this failure.

"No you will be alright, don't worry I am here now," he tried to sooth both their spirits, but one look at the ragged wound in her side told him everything he needed to know. She held the dagger Quill had given her limply in her left hand, while the right pushed down on her torn side.

Altaïr and Malik neared the siblings, not wanting to intrude but desperate to find out where Mika, and the missing piece, was. Quill stood as if stuck in place, her face paled and her fists clenched at her sides.

"That man walked us out of the town with a knife to my back, said if we made a sound he would kill us. When we got just around this corner," she nodded to the bend in the road ahead, "his accomplice joined him. I knew that was the only chance I was going to get. So I used the dagger and I killed him." There was a cold satisfaction in her voice, but it was replaced by hollow fear when she continued.

"The other man grabbed Mika, and stabbed me before running off. I don't even know why they wanted him!" she said with a shallow sob.

Quill covered her face with her hand, not able to bare the sight of the mortally wounded girl.

Emir sat motionless and speechless next to her, holding her bloodied hand as a silent tear ran down his cheek.

"Thank you," Rima said to Quill.

"Thank me? Whatever for? I..." she dropped her hand to her side, unable to finish the sentence.

"Before I met you I would have been afraid. I wasn't afraid," she said, and she wiped the tear from her brother's face, leaving a red smear. "I was angry. And I could do something about it." She took one last shuddering breath and with a faint smile closed her eyes.

Quill raised her left hand, and tried to focus every ounce of her being into her will. She remained standing so for a long while, as if reaching out to the girl, before eventually dropping her hand again with a sigh. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that burned there, and turned her back to the heart-breaking scene.

Malik placed a concerned hand on Emir's shoulder as he stared blindly at his sister. Altaïr however watched Quill carefully, and when she turned away with the shudder of suppressed grief, he realized what he had been missing.

"You never got your magic back," he said quietly as he came to stand beside her. "That's why you didn't heal yourself after the fight with Aldiun. That's what you were trying to do now - see if you could heal her."

"I was hoping..." she said after a letting out a long breath. "I was hoping that since I lost it when you came to Skyrim, I might get it back now that I am here."

After a long silence she added below her breath "I couldn't save her..."


	11. In Swift Pursuit

The day had definitely taken a turn for the worst.

From the eager promise of an unusually chilly day in that hot, arid world, Quill now sat silently in the shadow of the gates to the town, awaiting the return of Emir and Altaïr. They would set out before night fall to track down the men that were responsible for Rema's death and the disappearance of Mika. Quill kept wondering whether the boy was still alive. If these men were after the artifact that Mika had lifted from her bag - why not just take it from him? Why had they first attempted to abduct the brother and sister?

She sighed heavily and ran her fingers irritably through the strands of hair that hung about her shoulders. Malik came to sit beside her from his self-appointed watch over the empty road leading from the town and the fortress. He looked in no better spirits than she was. Understandably so, for he knew the siblings, and the now frantic Emir, much better than she did.

"How are you holding up?" she asked him with a side long glance.

"Oh, alright under the circumstances I suppose. I cannot believe how quickly everything went south..." he replied with an equally heavy sigh.

"I cannot help but feel that I have somehow caused this. I should have told Altaïr what I had with me from the beginning. But my stupid pride got in the way. How petty and pointless it all seems now..."

"You had your reasons. In light of these events, yes they might not seem all that important. But at the time, how were you to know?"

"Thank you, but I still feel lousy."

"I overheard Altaïr say something about magic earlier? What was he talking about?"

"Oh, nothing, really. Or it might have been something, but unfortunately it doesn't matter anymore. I had it once - and with it I would have been able to heal Rima, to save her life. But I lost it a long time ago."

"Like fireballs and lighting? Wow it sounded unreal when Altaïr first told me your world had an abundance of it - and honestly it still sounds rather fantastical," Malik said, turning to her for the first time, eyes wide with interest.

"Yes fire and lightning too," she replied with a smile. "But also restoration magic - that could heal a would-be fatal wound in seconds..."

Malik was still staring at her with a mix of disbelief and confusion when they heard footsteps approach.

The first through the gate was the black horse Shadowmere, followed shortly by Altaïr, Emir and four other assassins. The horses stabled by the gates grew slightly nervous at Shadowmere's presence, shifting from one leg to the other restlessly.

"We don't have that much daylight left, but they already have half a day on us, we cannot delay till morning. I have only called these men with us, I feel some should be left to defend the village and fortress should there be a need. Ready to go?" Altaïr asked looking first at Quill and then those around them. Everyone nodded their agreement, gathering the reins of a horse each. Quill absently patted the great black neck, while Shadowmere nibbled at her pocket for a treat.

They walked to the place where they had found Rima, all that was left was a dark stain on the ground where she had fallen - her body having been removed by the women of the fortress to be prepared for burial. They followed the tracks on a short while, but it soon became harder and harder to distinguish which tracks to follow.

"It appears that our kidnappers knew we would follow and have taken precaution..." Quill muttered, looking at the numerous tracks of horses, cattle, people and a cart that became an indistinguishable mash-up of disturbed earth.

Emir swore under his breath, dropping his head into his hands. There was no way to follow all the tracks - these people had made it impossible to tell where the tracks were that would lead them to Mika.

A few of the others followed a set of prints this way or that for a ways, only to come back saying that they continue into the distance. It was a plan to thin out their ranks if they chose to split up, and if they stuck together, they had no way to know which set to follow.

"What do we do now Altaïr?" Malik asked his friend quietly to the side. "There is no humanly possible way to know which is which."

Altaïr stood for a long while staring at the maze of prints, trying to follow the correct set, before finally looking up to meet Quill's eyes.

"There is a way," he said, almost inaudibly soft. "You can find it."

Quill'd breath caight in her throat. She knew what he was asking, and she _could_ do it - but she was cautious of the risks. She had no idea how the others would react - they might quite rightly try to kill her.

"You can find him, can't you?" he pressed, and by then everyone was looking at her.

She took a deep breath, and nodded curtly once, before turning around and walking away behind a rocky outcrop.

"Where's she going?" Emir asked, sounding desperate and pained.

They heard odd tearing sounds from the direction in which she had gone, accompanied by a low whine. After a while something moved in the shadows by the side of the road, both horses and men became nervous, that primal instinct that danger was near prickling their senses.

By the time that the shadowy figure rose above them, the afternoon sun bringing out the gloss of a grey-black coat across broad muscular shoulders that stood almost a head higher than the men, the horses were pulling frantically against their riders' grasps and the men had their swords in hand. Fear so thick it was almost palatable hung in the windless air.

"What in the hell?" breathed Malik.

"Thank you," Altaïr said to the creature as it's cool blue eyes rimmed in gold met his. The creature shrugged and made an awkward sound deep in its throat.

_"At least no-one has had the sense to actually use their swords"_, Quill thought. But she knew one sudden movement, and they would all snap out of their fearful stupor and attack her. They were after all well trained assassins - and she was half surprised not to have been attacked already.

"Altaïr?" Malik asked uncertainly, recognizing the blue eyes, but the shape making him entirely uncertain.

"She won't do anything to any of us - but I am glad I am not the person she is hunting. Try to keep your horses calm." Altaïr said in a soothing yet firm voice.

He too knew how close to panic everyone was - he had to keep a check on himself too. Even though he had seen her like this once before, to see that form looming over you with claws that could tear out your heart effortlessly, was enough to drive all sense from the mind. He swallowed once, and she gave him a soft grumble, turning her head askew, much as a confused harmless puppy might do. Shadowmere had mean while come to stand beside her and was trying to nibble at her ear. She swatted at the horse with an annoyed little growl.

Altaïr mounted the big black horse, since clearly she would have no need for a mount, and the others followed his example. There was still a feeling of tension in the air, and she heard the nervous whispers between the men, but didn't give them the idea that she could hear and understand them - it would not make them any less nervous. She dropped to all fours, and started sniffing around the last place where only the kidnapper and Mika's prints were visable. She picked up his scent easily - much easier than in her human form.

She knew Altaïr was right, her sense of smell was good as a human, but this was really the only way to find them. Their time was doubtlessly limited. She lifted her slender muzzle to the sky and could start to pick up the scent she was after, closing her eyes she could almost picture seeing the trail like a color tinted bread-crumb path that would lead her to Mika. And the man she planned to help into an early and grisly grave.

After circling the area once or twice, all under the watchfulness of her companions, she finally took a few steps to one direction. Looking over her shoulder, she gave Altaïr a nod and start trotting off in that direction. There was still a mill of other prints, but she could now follow her selected scent with her eyes closed. The others followed as closely as they could get their horses to dare, and soon Quill felt the joy of the wolf running with the wind in her mane, sand under her paws and the scent of her prey leading her on The Hunt - it was an odd sensation, one that was a bit frightening and at the same time exhilarating.

She picked up her pace, stretching her powerful limbs into a comfortably swift lope, it helped that she could feel those behind her slowly begin to relax too as they gave their horses rein to keep up with her. The sun was already low on the horizon, and the landscape had become less arid, slowly more trees lined the road, till eventually they found themselves shaded even from the setting light.

They were getting close, she could feel it. Slowing down to a walk, fear and excitement mingled between wolf and human - she was afraid they might be too late, but the wolf was looking forward to finding its target. She looked over her shoulder at Altaïr, as if to steady her nerves, but she could see similar emotions in his expression. A soft whine escaped her throat - she wasn't entirely sure whether it was her or the wolf though.

Altaïr found it hard to look at her in that form, they way her entire manner had become that of a wolf. As she lead them at break-neck speeds along the dusty roads, never faltering or wavering in her certainty, he could almost forget that the black shape really was a woman. When she had slowed to a walk and she looked back, their eyes meeting momentarily, he had to look away to try and steady the uneasy feeling he had.

She suddenly stopped short, her head shooting up, ears swiveling this way and that. The next moment she dashed back towards the assassins, in a movement so fast she was a mere blurry shadow moving over the ground. Altaïr's - and everyone else's - immediate instinct was to be defensive. It was as if they had all waited for the magic that kept the beast leashed to break, and for it to turn on them. They were however not fast enough, Quill had leapt Malik straight out of his saddle, her hind paws tearing four gashes on his panicked horse's neck in the process. Everyone's swords were drawn at the same time that they hit the ground.

Malik lay on his back in a cold sweat, one giant paw resting heavily on his shoulder, the other had prevented his head from being smashed open on the ground, as he stared first in panic and then in shame at the two gold rimmed eyes above the muzzle. It must only have been a second or two, but it stretched out and felt much longer - Altaïr could see first the determination in Quill's eyes, followed by a brief flicker of hurt and betrayal - it passed so quickly, anyone else would not have noticed. But even his attention was then shifted to the arrow that had lodged itself firmly in her black fur.

The other assassins had already moved towards the place where the arrow had come from and were flushing the Templar patrol out of their slight cover. Quill moved into the throng of the fight, and having found the archer made quick work to dispatch him. It was a small patrol, probably meant only to spot them and report back, and as such it didn't take long for the assassins to overpower them. Collecting their horses and sheathing their blades, everyone felt guilty for having assumed the worst, and gave her awkward looks. For her part, she sat some way off, awkwardly trying to paw at the arrow.

"Here," said Malik, "let me."

She gave a resigned sign and sat still while he took a look at the damage the arrow had done. She grumbled something inaudible and motioned to him to pull the arrow out.

"But that could do a lot of damage," he tried to protest. She continued more fervently to motion, until he finally relented. She gave only a soft mumble as the arrow pulled free, and rolled her shoulders, as if to ease tension.

"Look, thank you. I'm sorry I..." but before Malik could continue, she put a paw on his shoulder and gave him a single nod.

They could already begin to see the Templar camp's fires a short ways off, and Altaïr decide they should continue on foot. Quill was trying to explain something to them, and getting very frustrated in the process. She pointed to her self, then down to the camp, next to Altaïr and the other assassins, and then made slow walking movements with her clawed fingers.

"What? Yes we're going down to the camp," Altaïr said eventually, only to be rewarded by a very sarcastic look.

"No, wait." Everyone focused on Emir. It was the first time he had said a word since they had set off. "She wants to go down and create a distraction, so we can sneak in and get my brother."

She gave them a broad and toothy smile, or at least they hoped it was a smile.

"How do you plan to distract enough of them to give us a gap?"

She gave him a long look that clearly said "really, are you clueless". Altaïr couldn't help but smile. Even not being able to talk she was still giving him attitude.

"Very well," he finally relented. Just before she disappeared down into the camp, he muttered under his breath "be careful" and was thankful to see a barely perceptible nod.


	12. Camping

Quill skulked down into the camp on silent paws, following the shadows where she could. She could feel the assassins' eyes on her back, watching her progress with baited breath. The afternoon had dwindled into evening, and a cool breeze lifted the many scents of the camp clearly to her keen nose. She smelled the cooking fires with bubbling pots, although from the smell she would not have put her lips to it; in the distance she caught the aroma of fresh laundry, mixed with the salty tang of unwashed soldiers. She was about to make her great diversion, when she caught another scent. Instinct was a dangerous thing, and she could not resist throwing the plan out and following the new information brought to her mind through her nostrils.

She gave one look towards her hidden companions, only to see the expected confusion and panic as she diverted from her course. She could smell Mika and she could smell the man that still had the stench of blood on him - Rima's blood. Nearing a half open tent she peered cautious in. Mika was tied to the center post, and had clearly received a few hard-handed slaps. There was a man too, walking impatiently up and down infront of the boy's glaring eyes. He was fairly tall and well muscled, but further rather plain.

"You will tell me, boy," he said, sounding almost kind. "I really did not wish to harm you or your sister, but you have something that I need."

Quill's mind raced - what had Mika done with the artifact? If they didn't have it, perhaps he hid is somewhere back at the fortress before they were abducted. That would be a good thing, but her priority was to get him out of there and fast.

"I've told you, I don't know what you want," Mika replied. He was trying very hard to sound brave, but the slight quiver in his voice and quickening of his heart rate told Quill otherwise. She had to stifle a growl.

She was just about to move into the tent when Mika spotted her. His face visibly blanched, and she feared he might cry out a warning, but he surprised her by deliberately fixing his eyes back to the man's face.

"Even if I did know," he spat out, "I wouldn't tell you anything!"

The man raised his hand to strike Mika again, but before the blow fell the wolf's mighty jaws snapped his hand off at the wrist. He looked dumbly at the bleeding stump, incapable of understand what exactly had just happened, but before pain, shock or fear could bring back his voice, he lay slumped on the floor, Quill having neatly ripped out his throat.

She carefully neared Mika, and for his part he merely squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

Quill was extra cautious to move slowly as she bit through the bonds tying him down, after which she went to sit on her haunches in front of him. At length he opened his eyes, and slowly turned to face her, swallowing nervously. She thought he might recognize something of her, because he frowned and tried to say something. She quickly put her forefinger against the tip of her muzzle in a shushing gesture to quiet him, and turned to lead the way from the tent. She could slowly start to feel the wolf letting go, slipping slowly away and she knew her time was limited before she would be just an awkward, naked woman in the middle of a soldiers' camp.

Mika actually followed her, which kind of surprised her. They were just around the corner of the tent, when she thrust out a paw the pull both herself and Mika close up against the side of the tent. A group of men had meanwhile gathered in the clearing between them and the assassins. Sitting back on her haunches she motioned in the direction of the assassins, and then after pointing first to herself and then the group of soldiers, she gave him a nod. He looked slightly confused for a second, but then nodded wordlessly.

She was in the midst of the men in mere seconds - the first two fell even before the other realized what had happened. Her aim was to get them away, and draw off as many as she could so that Altaïr and the others could get Mika and make their escape. She loped on past the other men, who after their initial shock set off after her in haste. She was already slowing down, feeling the speed and strenght of the wolf truly starting to vanish.

"_Oh great..._" she thought. "_If I can just get to some kind of cover..._" Luckily she was still faster than her two-legged pursuers, and as she felt the awkward rearranging of bone and flesh and hair hit her all at once, she had just enough time to duck underneath a nearby tent. By the time she rose to her feet, hearing the men just outside searching for her, she was human again. She quickly dug in her bag (_gotta love magic that actually still works_, she thought) and pulled the simple linen tunic that she wore under her armor over her head, before fishing for the rest. She paused, suddenly becoming aware of someone else in the tent. Slowly raising her head she was met by the unexpected sight of a woman holding a large sword threateningly in her direction.

Quill raised a brow, taking in the woman's armor and hard look, realizing she hadn't just stumbled upon a common wench.

"Raise you hands - slowly," the woman said.

She dropped her hands to her sides instead. Returning the icy stare, but wondering how she could spin the story - she stumbled in naked and covered in blood, and from the ruckus outside anyone would be able to gather that they were looking for her. They stood a long moment regarding one another, before one of the searching soldiers burst into the tent.

"Have you seen..." he stopped short at the scene in front of him, clearly not sure what to make of it. But then his eyes narrowed at the blood soaked woman with the strangely gold-rimmed eyes. "How... Just... just keep that sword on her, I will tie the beast up!"

"What are you on about?" the woman asked with more annoyance than worry.

"It is witchcraft - this _thing_ has just ripped three people apart," he replied, jerking Quills hands behind her back and roughly tying them together. The other woman gave them both a skeptical look, Quill replied with a very toothy grin, the wolf not having entirely subsided.

He shoved Quill towards the tent-flap, already calling to his companions.

"Hey, what's going on here?" the woman insisted.

"Stay out of it - you might have been de Sable's little pet, but you are on thin ice now Maria," the man warned. The woman glowered at him, but followed him out while he pushed his trophy before him. The others had the sense to have a prisoner-cart brought out, and soon Quill found herself locked, very much like a carnival curiosity, in a cage atop an open wagon.

Resigning herself to her fate to the time being, and refusing to give the bastards the satisfaction of seeing her try to figure out how to escape, she sat with her head leaning back against the cage. It would have been easier had they not taken her bag, but at least they didn't seem too interested in it's contents at that time. The other woman had mean while left, after giving the men scathing looks, supposedly to figure out what really happened.

. . .

Mika had wasted no time, and soon literally ran into his brother and the other assassins.

Emir wrapped his little brother in his arms and held him there briefly, before releasing his grip, a little embarrassed.

"Are you alright?" he asked, kneeling in front of Mika while examining the bruises forming on his cheek.

"I am fine. He kept asking me for something, but I didn't give it to him," he said with a certain measure of pride.

"What did he ask you for?" Altaïr asked, struggling not to sound over zealous.

"I'm not sure, he kept talking about a sword or something. But I think he was actually after this," Mika lifted a delicate golden chain from some hidden pocket. Dangling at the end was a similarly golden orb with intricate designs on it. Mika handed it over to Altaïr, for his part, seeming glad to be rid of it.

"I didn't know it was that important when I took it, I promise."

"Didn't they search you for it? How did they not find it?" Emir asked his little brother astonished.

"I'm a thief, I know how to hide things," he replied smugly.

"Be that as it may, I am glad we have it in our possession. Where's Quill?" Altaïr said, pocketing the orb with visible relief.

"Quill? You mean that was really her..." fear crossed the boys face as he remembered the creature that freed him. "I thought it looked like her, somehow... but didn't want to believe it..."

"She will not do any of us harm," Malik tried to steady the boy's nerves.

"You didn't see what she did to that man... Oh no..."

"What?"

"They must have her... She told, or showed me to run away, and then she headed straight into their camp..."

. . .

Quill sat with her eyes closed, but didn't miss any of the goings on in the camp. She had gathered that the man Rima had killed was supposed to lead them through a secret passage into the very heart of the assassin's fortress - she wondered as to why an assassin would betray the brotherhood, but she guessed the reason might be something as unsubstantial as money. They were quite upset that their plans had been foiled, however they still seemed determined on a frontal assault in any event. From what she gathered, this little encampment was only the tip of the Templar iceberg that was on its way in their direction. She would have to get out of there, and fast.

"What?" she asked the Templar woman, without opening her eyes. She had been aware of her presence for a while, she could practically feel the woman's eyes on her.

"I don't believe these idiots," she replied after a while. "I have the feeling you might just have been at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Quill's eyes snapped opened. "Really?"

"Yes. They're not too fond of anyone that challenges the status quo. I mean - a monster, really? Phf." The woman's tone made her dislike of the 'idiots' quite clear.

"Someone like you?"

"And someone like you," she replied, reaching for the keys on a nearby hook. Quill stepped towards the gate, pressing her face as far through the bars as she could manage to see what she was doing.

To her utmost surprise the Templar unlocked the gate, and stood aside. Quill hesitated a moment, before carefully stepping out. She reached for her discarded bag and dug out her armor, getting dressed quickly - all the while keeping her eyes on the other woman. She had managed to move around so that the woman was between her and the cage. Neither took her eyes off the other.

"So," Quill said eventually, fully dressed and caped. "What now?"

"You are free to go," she replied with a shrug.

Quill narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"There's just one little thing though... you see - I _did_ rip those men apart, and I was _exactly_ where I wanted to be at that time... But I think, if I were you, I would also let me go - and follow me. See if I lead directly to the assassins you're so desperately seeking. Because I know, secretly you're trying to prove yourself to these idiots. I get that. Do understand there's no hard feelings - I would have done the same. But sorry, your plan won't work. FUS!"

That one word sent the woman hurtling backwards into the cage, whereupon Quill clicked the lock shut. When the woman was able to find her bearings she could do little more than scowl at Quill through the bars. The shout had however alerted the entire camp that something was afoot. Quill waited just long enough to gather her energy before using Whirlwind Sprint to dash off.

She caught the beginnings of cursing as the woman finally regained her senses, but by that time Quill was gone. She deliberately chose to shoot straight across the camp, in the opposite direction of where the others would be waiting, planning to take the long way around.

This proved a little more tricky than she had anticipated, and it was dawn before she had made her way far enough around the Templar camp and back in the direction of the fortress. All night she had been careful to leave no trace of her path, but now she could focus on speed rather than caution, sure that they could not have followed her.

"I thought Shadowmere was supposed to follow me where ever I went - it would have been useful to have a horse these last few hours," she muttered to herself, trying hard to ignore the ache in her feet. She had spent many years traveling by foot, but had clearly become far too used to primarily being in the saddle. Quill had barely finished the thought when she picked up familiar scents, and arguing.

. . .

"We can't stroll back into that camp with the very item they were after!" Emir exclaimed.

"That's why I said we send you brother back to the fortress with it," Malik said, biting off every word.

"He's a child! And he has been through enough!"

Altaïr stood off to one side, looking off into the direction of the Templar camp. "Well, we're about to miss our chance. They are packing up," he said quietly, almost to himself.

The others ceased their bickering, turning to look as well.

Quill had been gone the entire evening, and Altaïr was not about to let the Templars pack up and go who knows where with her still somewhere there. They had heard two loud shouts in the early morning hours, which had given him hope - being the only one that knew what they meant. But it has been hours since then, and still no sign of her.

"So I leave you alone for a few hours and you guys all but fall apart," a bemused female voice said from behind them.

Altaïr smiled to himself, even before turning. Quill had made herself comfortable against a tree, and was lazily eating some exotic fruit she must have had in her bag. The others gave her wide eyed looks, clearly very surprised.

"Must say, you had me worried there," he replied, with a half smile. "Why did you deviate from the plan?" he added more sternly.

"I had new information," she replied with a shrug, giving a side-ways glance to where Mika was curled up asleep.

"How'd you get out? We could vaguely make out that they had caught you, but it was soon impossible to tell what was going on down there," Malik asked, seeming quite relieved himself.

"I can actually not take credit for it."

"Oh?"

"Yes, some Templar woman made the mistake of letting me out," she said, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. Altaïr frowned at this.

"Don't worry, she ended up being indisposed... and I had to take a detour to get back here. That's why it took so long. But, we _really_ aught to get going, they're heading for Masyaf," she said, dusting herself off.


End file.
